


Out of Eden

by mnemosyne23



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Addiction, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-13
Updated: 2005-01-05
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne23/pseuds/mnemosyne23
Summary: After the castaways are rescued from the island, Charlie and Claire look forward to starting life anew with little Aidan.  But will the stresses of everyday life tear apart what was built so securely in the tropical sand?





	1. Happy Beginnings and Breakdown

_"And you know I'm going back,_  
Going back today.  
Back to where I came from.  
And you know I'm going back,  
Going back to stay…"

_~Roxette, "Pearls of Passion"_

 

The first thing Charlie did upon setting foot on the mainland after two years on the island was fall to his knees and thank God. The second thing he did was raise his head to look for Claire. They'd been shuffled through all kinds of doctor's exams on the cruiser, and virus screenings, and press accolades, and he'd lost sight of her in the hubbub. But there she was, being hugged brutally by a rake-thin older woman with slender crow's feet around strikingly familiar blue eyes. Charlie knew immediately this was the unforgiving mother he'd heard so much about. Apparently distance truly did make the heart grow fonder, as she showed no sign of letting her daughter go anytime this century.

Charlie smiled as he watched them, then grinned broadly as little Aidan tugged on his mother's pants leg, raising his arms to be held. On the island he would have been snatched up in a second by any member of the castaways, but here, there were too many tall people looking at other tall people. No one had the presence of mind to glance down and see the little boy pouting by his mother's feet, face scrunching up, ready to cry.

Getting to his feet, Charlie jogged towards the reunion. "Hey there, cheeky," he soothed, sweeping Aidan up into his arms and crooking the fussing toddler on his hip. "Don't bother mummy right now, little fella, all right?" He stroked the little boy's downy blonde hair. "Mummy's saying hello to HER mummy."

"Charlie!" The voice was a little strangled, but it was Claire without a doubt. "Mum, this is Charlie. Mum…" She wrenched herself out of her mother's clawlike embrace, smiling sweetly and stepping back to stand beside Charlie. "Charlie, this is my mother, Elizabeth."

Charlie held out his free hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Littleton."

The older woman took his hand, wringing it madly. She was perhaps in her mid-40's, with angular features and dry, papery skin, leading Charlie to believe Claire had gotten her cherubic good looks from her father. But the eyes were identical. Brilliant blue, and at the moment, full of tears.

"Thank you," Claire's mother enthused. "Thank you for bringing my little girl home. Thank you!"

Charlie felt himself blushing. "Well… That wasn't me, really. It was more those chaps on the _Golden Seagull_. I just helped her pack."

Claire laughed, hugging his arm. "Charlie was with me on the island, mum," she explained. "He's been my closest friend all this time. And he's been like a father to Aidan."

Elizabeth's eyes turned to the little boy now, who had his head pillowed on Charlie's shoulder, a thumb in his mouth, watching the scene with sleepy eyes. "Aidan…" A teary smile lit up her face as she reached toward the little boy. "Hello, sweetie."

Charlie felt the little boy snuggle his face into his neck, obviously not in the mood for meeting strangers. "He's a little tired, I think," he explained at the older woman's hurt look. "He's had a long day."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes," she said. "Yes. Yes, of course. I was a mother to a toddler once. I should remember what they're like." Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, Claire…"

Charlie just had time to share a grin with Claire before her mother had once again enfolded the younger woman in a tight, bone-crushing hug. Claire didn't fight it -- Charlie imagined it must be nice to feel so much love so soon after landing in Brisbane. Rubbing Aidan's back and rocking the little boy gently, his eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of Liam. There was none. Ah, well -- he was certain to turn up eventually. News traveled fast, but people weren't necessarily always there to hear it when it arrived. Besides, Claire was here, and Aidan. They were his family in more ways than just blood. They were enough.

"…and Aunt Annalee is coming up from Melbourne with Uncle Edgar and Great-Uncle Bruce," Mrs. Littleton was explaining to Claire, her hug never loosening. "And your cousins Sally and Derek are flying in all the way from Perth! I called them as soon as I heard the news. Oh, sweetheart!" Charlie saw Claire wince as her mother's embrace tightened even more.

"That's wonderful, mum," Claire soothed, rubbing her mother's back. "But you have to let me breathe, or I won't be able to meet them."

"I don't want to let you go! I did that once, and look what happened! I'm not going to make that mistake again. And I'm going to spoil my grandson rotten!"

Claire laughed, and Charlie could hear the tears in her voice. "Oh, mum…," she sighed, but Charlie knew from her tone that this approbation was the sweetest gift anyone could have given her.

"Wanna Hurley," Aidan mumbled in Charlie's ear, rubbing his eyes dreamily, distracting Charlie's thoughts.

"Hurley's not here right now, mate," Charlie explained gently, kissing the little boy's forehead. "He's going home."

"Wanna go home."

"I know, mate," Charlie soothed. "But you and mummy are going to a new home now, with your grandmummy. You'll love it there, I promise."

"Charlie gonna go?"

Charlie laughed quietly. "If your mummy will let me."

"What are you two chatting about over there?" Charlie looked up to see Claire pulling away from her mother for a second time, a huge grin on her face.

"He was asking about Hurley," Charlie explained.

"Aww… Hurley's going to visit his mummy and daddy, sweetie," Claire said with a soft smile. Holding out her arms, she asked, "Will my Aidan come visit _his_ mummy?"

Sleepily, the little boy sat up and held out his arms to his mother. Claire eased him out of Charlie's hold, cradling the little boy close to her heart and humming softly next to his ear. Aidan's eyes closed immediately and he snuggled into his mother's embrace.

"Pretty as a picture in a palace parlor," Charlie murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple.

"You always say that," she said, leaning her head against his chest.

"I always mean it."

"Even when I'm being a grouch?"

"Especially when you're being a grouch. You're beautiful when you're angry."

She laughed, elbowing him gently in the stomach. "Help my mother with our 'luggage,' idiot," she teased, nodding to where Elizabeth was struggling to gather all their miscellaneous belongings into manageable bundles. "Or she'll think you're a complete lout with no manners, and then good luck impressing her."

"Wouldn't want that, huh?" He grinned against her cheek, pecking her quickly on the lips before moving over to crouch beside her mother. "Let me take some of that, Mrs. Littleton," he offered genially, carefully taking some of the parcels from the older woman's arms. "Bloody island. Would you believe, after all these years, not a single piece of luggage survived? Not a sausage. They all fell apart after the first year. Pathetic, yeah? I've got pairs of underwear that've lasted me longer!" He paused, ignoring Claire's snort of laughter. "Yes, let's just forget I said that last bit, can we?"

Mrs. Littleton turned towards him, and he knew in an instant THIS was the woman who had given his Claire her megawatt smile. "Charlie, my daughter's home after two years of hell, and she's smiling. I have you to thank for that. Right now, you can do no wrong."

Charlie felt himself blushing. "Thanks," he said awkwardly.

"This is only a grace period, mind you. I make no guarantees past 90 days."

"Understood."

"Excuse me?" Claire spoke up. "Standing here, thank you very much."

"Do I get a lease with an option to buy?"

"CHARLIE!"

"We'll see what we can do."

"MOM!"

"Shhhhh, Claire, sweet, you'll wake the baby." Charlie winked at Mrs. Littleton, then stood, loaded down with packages. He awkwardly offered the older woman his arm. "I'm just being nice to your… sorry, you're Claire's sister, correct?"

"Oh, this one is a sweetheart, dear," Elizabeth said, accepting his proffered arm. "Where did you find him?"

"He followed me home," Claire grumbled, but Charlie saw the twinkle in her eye as she said it.

"Like a little lost puppy," he agreed as they began to walk towards the car park. "Woof."

Elizabeth laughed by his side, and he heard Claire giggle behind them. They were walking on tarmac for the first time in two years, he could smell french fries, and somewhere in the distance, a radio was playing techno rockabilly.

God, it was good to be home.

 

\----------------------------------

 

The spread was amazing, even by her mother's standards. Elizabeth Littleton had always been a gourmand, but Claire had NEVER seen anything like this on the supper table as a girl. There was everything from beef to bacon to salad to sandwiches to oranges to oatmeal to potatoes to-

"PEANUT BUTTER!" She couldn't resist a squeal of delight when she saw the not one, not two, but THREE jars of peanut butter sitting in a place of honor at the center of the table. "You remembered!"

"How could I forget?" her mother said, as Claire gaped in amazement. "You only asked me to buy you peanut butter every week as a child. I thought you might have missed it on the island. I couldn't remember which was your favorite, so I just bought one of everything they had. There's chunky, regular, and extra smooth."

Claire was going to cry. Again. She didn't know if she had the energy to do that AND hold Aidan, so she turned to Charlie with blurry eyes. "Take him?" she asked softly, voice slightly choked.

Charlie smiled tenderly and nodded, gently lifting the sleeping boy out of his mother's arms. Claire was thankful he didn't ask if she was all right -- he knew she couldn't have said a word without bawling.

Moving over to the table, Claire reached into the peanut butter display and lifted out a jar. "Extra smooth," she read the label, and looked over her shoulder at Charlie, a huge grin plastered across her face. "Charlie…"

"Go on then, luv," he encouraged, smiling. "Not as good as I make, I'll warrant, but I imagine it'll get you by."

Claire grinned, biting her lip from sheer excitement. Directing her attention to the peanut butter jar again, she twisted the cap, pleased with how easy it turned thanks to the strength and muscle tone of her arm, sculpted by the difficulties of island life. When she lifted the lid off, the smell almost knocked her out -- it was like heaven in a jar. If she had died right then and there, she would have gone a happy woman.

But the smell was nothing compared to the taste.

Ignoring the various cutlery arrayed on her mother's table linens, Claire dug a finger deep into the thick, creamy peanut butter, extracting a sizable chunk of the spread and sticking it unceremoniously in her mouth. Oh, God… **BLISS.** It was as if someone had read her mind and made peanut butter taste EXACTLY as she remembered it, hyperbole and all. She would have stood there sucking the stuff off her finger for another hour or more if she hadn't heard Charlie clear his throat. When she opened her eyes to look at him -- finger still in her mouth -- she could see in his eyes what he was thinking: _Sweet, you'd best get that finger out of your mouth because it's getting a bit obscene, and your mother's here, and so's your son, and really, shouldn't you save that for LATER? *wink, wink*_

Popping the finger out of her mouth, she sighed heavily, body sagging as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest. "That was the best moment of my entire life," she breathed, slumping down into a chair and cuddling the peanut butter close to her heart. "I love you!"

"Me or the peanut butter, sweetheart?" Mrs. Littleton teased, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Now you can't just sit there and eat only peanut butter all night. There's plenty of food here and I want it all gone by tomorrow before your Uncle Albert arrives and goes off his diet again. I… stayed away from seafood. I thought you might be tired of it."

Claire grinned at her mother. "Thank you," she said, with true gratitude. Then, as an afterthought, "Is there any pork?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Do you want some?"

"NO," Claire and Charlie said in tandem.

"Boar and bananas," Charlie explained at Mrs. Littleton's confused look. "Long story, but that's what it boils down to. Boar and bananas. All the time. With fish." He shivered. "I need beef."

"Well help yourself!" Claire's mother stood back, clutching her hands in front of her, as if worried that what she'd provided somehow wouldn't measure up to their expectations.

She was, of course, dead wrong.

Claire had never eaten so much in her life. Years on the island had shrunk their stomachs to far more manageable sizes than they'd been originally on the mainland, but somehow she and Charlie managed to stuff a bit of each and every thing on the table into their mouths. Aidan was perched on Charlie's lap, and when the little boy woke up somewhere into the second hour of the feast, Claire gave him a wedge of melon to suck and nibble on. She was unsure how best to introduce him to the rest of the foods that were weighing down the table; they were bound to be a shock to his young system, and she wasn't sure how to handle that. On the island she could have asked Jack, but now…

"Hey, you okay?" Charlie asked her, and Claire shook herself out of her reverie to meet his concerned eyes. She could hear her mother puttering around in the kitchen, washing dishes and generally babbling on about this relative and that news item. "You look… misty."

Claire smiled wistfully, reaching out to take his hand. "Did you ever think it would be scary, coming back to all this?" she murmured.

Charlie squeezed her hand, shifting the squirming Aidan in his lap. "Are you scared?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"Because. I don't know. I just don't… KNOW anyone anymore. That woman in there? That's not my mother. But she is. But she's NOT. My mother kicked me out for sleeping with my boyfriend ONCE. Now this mother is welcoming you in with open arms and basically begging you to sleep with me."

"Well, I'm not going to argue-"

"Charlie."

"Sorry, sorry. Keep going."

Claire sighed, rubbing her eyes. "On the island, I knew everyone. If I was sick, I could ask Jack. If Aidan was sick, I could ask Jack. If I needed to go fishing, I could ask Jin. If I needed a laugh, I could talk to Hurley. And I always had you, Charlie. But now… Everyone's gone. You know I didn't even get to say goodbye to any of them? We just left them behind, or they left us behind, or we all left each other. But… I don't WANT to leave them." She sighed again, frustrated. "I can't explain it."

Charlie squeezed her knee. "Hey," he soothed. "They're not gone forever, all right? We'll see them all again. And you've still got me, silly, in case you hadn't noticed. I've only been eating your poor mother out of house and home, or did you not see?"

Claire smiled weakly at his teasing. "No banoffee pie, I'm afraid," she said, laying her hand over his.

"I think I'll manage. I'll just eat a few more of those excellent crullers."

"You've had six!"

"There's a law against eight?" Claire laughed softly, then leaned forward to kiss him gently. "Mmmm," he moaned against her mouth as she pulled back. "Then again, I could just nibble on you for a few hours…"

Claire nuzzled his nose. "Are you ready for bed, champ?" she murmured, virtually purring. The lure of a coil-spring mattress was almost better than the peanut butter.

"Won't your mother mind?" he asked self-consciously.

"Charlie, we've been sleeping together for the better part of two years. You're my teddy bear and my blanket, all curled up in one. Trying to sleep without you is like trying to talk without breathing. Mum will understand."

"Understand what, sweetheart?" Claire looked up, blushing a little as her mother came into the room again, carrying a pitcher of lemonade. "Anyone for a drink?"

"No, thanks, mum," Claire spoke up, smiling. "Actually, Charlie and I were going to head to bed."

"Oh…"

"Is that… okay?" Tension was building in her stomach. _Oh God, here it comes… The shouting match…_

But instead, "Would you like a crib?"

Claire blinked. "What?"

Her mother nodded to Aidan, who was nodding off on Charlie's lap again. "For Aidan," she said, smiling. "I… brought yours down out of the attic when I heard you were coming home. I thought… if you'd had the baby, and he was fine, you might need it. And if you hadn't, or if he wasn't… Well, I could put it away again, and you'd never have known."

Claire felt tears in her eyes. "Mom… Thank you," she managed, a little choked up.

Her mother smiled tremulously. "You lived on that island," she said, shaky but firm. "You raised a beautiful little boy there. You met a wonderful young man there. I think you're grown up enough now to know what's best for yourself, and when your mother needs to butt out of your business so you can get on with living." She cupped her daughter's cheek and smiled. "I set the crib up in your old bedroom, sweetheart." She kissed Claire on the forehead. "Sweet dreams." Then she kissed Aidan's cheek, then -- quite unexpectedly -- the top of Charlie's head. "Sweet dreams," she repeated. "I'll clean up."

Claire didn't quite know what to say. Somehow she managed to get herself, Charlie and Aidan steered upstairs to her old bedroom -- still tricked out in bead curtains and Indian sarongs -- but she didn't remember one step of the journey.

"This is very you," Charlie said, wandering around the room with Aidan, taking it all in. Claire stood by the doorway, watching him explore, thinking how strange it was to see Charlie here touching her things. Things she hadn't touched herself in almost three years. And there in the corner, the white and yellow crib with the rainbow bolster she'd slept in that featured in so many of her childhood photographs.

"It's so… strange," she murmured, hugging herself and rubbing her arms. "When I moved in with Thomas, I thought for certain I'd never see any of this again. And now here I am, with you and Aidan, and it's like I never left."

"Let's not mention the T-word, all right?" Charlie said, sitting on the edge of her bed with Aidan asleep in his lap. The bed still wore her paisley comforter and matching pillow sham, and her mother had turned it down already, revealing cream-colored sheets beneath. "I want only sweet dreams tonight, not bad ones where I hit people and make them bleed and call them stupid prats."

Claire looked at the two of them. They were all wearing clothes that had been given to them when the Australian Navy took them off the _Golden Seagull_ near Fiji to shuttle them back here to Brisbane. She had never seen Charlie in a crisp white t-shirt before today, and Aidan had been wearing an oversized t-shirt for so long, it seemed strange to see him in age-appropriate clothing. They'd even all gotten a bath -- a real bath, with hot running water and STEAM. Claire had scrubbed herself with a sponge till she was glowing and sparkling, and Aidan had been awed when she showed him how to turn on and off the faucet. He and Charlie were sitting there together on her bed, both looking so fresh and… NEW, surrounded by everything that had left such an indelible impression on her childhood. God, her mother hadn't even thrown out her lava lamp.

"Charlie…," she whispered, voice too choked to speak louder.

He held out a hand to her and she took it, letting him pull her docilely down beside him on the bed. "Shhh," he soothed as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He smelled like soap. She'd missed the smell of soap. "Let's put Aidan to bed then get ready ourselves, all right?"

She laughed tearfully. "I don't remember where any of my sleep things are," she said, pressing her face into his arm.

"Then I'll help you search for them. Here, you take Aidan. I'll look around."

She took the little boy and began to ease him out of his clothes, trying not to wake him. He must have been very tired, because he only woke up briefly as she settled him in his crib -- snugged into one of Charlie's new t-shirts -- but he quickly fell back to sleep when she hummed "Catch a Falling Star."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, when she felt the mattress tilt and Charlie's hands on her back, gently lifting the hem of her white tank top. Closing her eyes, she let her head hang forward as his calloused fingers drifted across her bare lower back. "Any luck?" she asked, sighing with pleasure as he massaged the tension in her spine.

A lacy satin nightie dangled into view in front of her eyes. "I hope that's yours," he murmured near her ear. "Because if' it's someone else's, I might cry."

Claire laughed softly, enjoying the tickle of his beard against her cheek. "My friend Chloe gave it to me, to impress Thomas." She took the nightie from his hand, fingering it thoughtfully.

"Did it work?"

"I never wore it with him, so I don't know."

"Well good. That means you can christen it with me." His lips touched the back of her neck, the knob at the top of her spine, the curve of her shoulder…

Arching her back, Claire let him pull the white cotton tank off over her head, then let his hands turn her around on the mattress so she was facing him. His blue-green eyes were bright as he grazed his hand down the violin-curve of her side. "Ready for bed?" he asked.

She smiled and ran her thumb over the coarse stubble of his beard. "Very," she assured him.

Charlie smiled and kissed her nose. Sitting back a little, he yanked off his t-shirt and threw it aside. "Good," he murmured and kissed her again, deeper this time. Claire moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him pull her tight against his chest. When he stretched her out on the bed beneath him, she curled her leg around his waist -- something she'd almost never gotten to do on the island. It was too obvious a gesture, too likely to be seen by someone else in the caves and interpreted for what it was. The very fact of their relative privacy here was making her a little desperate.

"Easy, luv," Charlie breathed against her mouth as she strained against him. "We can't really do this properly with our pants on, now can we?"

"Then take them OFF," Claire demanded petulantly, reaching down to shove off her new cargo shorts, still creased down the sides and barely wrinkled.

Charlie laughed and rolled off her, unzipping his jeans and kicking them off down his legs. She rolled onto her side and grabbed hold of his boxers -- new and black -- and yanked them down before he could do it himself. "Hey!" he laughed, grabbing her hands and pulling her on top of him. "I know you want me, sweet, but you've got to go a little slower."

"Ooh, good idea," she cooed, grinning down at him. Rubbing herself against him, she reached behind her back and slowly unhooked her bra, new and shiny and STILL WHITE. With a groan of happiness, she let it fall away. "Very good idea…" she breathed, resting her forehead against his, her hair falling in a golden curtain around their faces.

Charlie's hands massaged her hips. "Isn't slow nice?" he murmured. Claire felt his fingers dip under the waist of her underwear -- utilitarian white cotton, but so NEW -- and she whimpered. "Slow is special." With tremendous care he began to work the panties off over her hips.

Claire let out a shaky breath as the cotton moved down her thighs. He stopped at her knees, coasting his hands back up her skin and kneading the tops of her thighs, where they angled into a V. She bit her lip, feeling her body tremble, and wiggled her legs until she could kick her underwear off and away over the side of the bed.

Slowly, Charlie rolled them over, and Claire gasped a little when he pulled away from her. "Where are you going?" she asked, as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"Nowhere," he said, resting his hand on her stomach and rubbing slow circles there. "I was just looking at you. It's been a while since I've seen you naked." He smiled, his eyes coasting up and down her body. "Thank God you love me, Claire, because I don't think I could stand it if I didn't get to have you like this, all to myself."

She giggled, stroking his arm. "Well you do get me," she assured him. "And unless you do something REALLY asinine, you always will."

"I'm prone to being asinine, so could you be more specific?"

"I'll let you know if you're ever close, all right?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Mmm… Good." Leaning in again, he buried his face in her throat, sucking gently. Claire closed her eyes, tunneling her fingers through his hair. As he moved on top of her, she wrapped her legs loosely around his waist, sliding her hands down to splay against his back. A flick of his hand brought the blankets up, encasing the pair of them in a warm, secretive cocoon.

A sharp sigh later, and Claire decided she'd have to model the nightie for him another night.

* * *

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

_"Can't we leave the world outside_  
Just for a while? Just for a while?  
Spend some time, you and I  
Under this bright glorious sky…" 

_~ Roxette, "Church of Your Heart"_

 

 

The house was swarming with guests again, just as it had been almost every night for the month since their return. Claire never knew she had so many relatives, let alone friends and acquaintances. Girls she'd known in kindergarten, boys she'd dated in high school… Everywhere she turned, she ended up treading on a person from her past. It was surreal.

She left Aidan with her mother and a passel of adoring relatives and made her way onto the moonlit patio. Not surprisingly, Charlie was already there, leaning on the railing and staring at the ocean. "Hey," she said softly, coming over to him and resting a hand on his back.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back to the waves. "Hey," he murmured.

"Claustrophobia?"

"You've got a lot of relatives."

Claire chuckled, rubbing his back. "I know. More than I remember. I think mum went through the phone book and called everyone whose last name starts with an 'L'." Sighing, she leaned down and kissed his temple, pressing her forehead against his hair. "I'm sorry. It's been crazy, I know. It'll even out soon, when everyone's made the token trip so they can see the miracle baby. I promise."

Charlie rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. "I never thought I'd miss the quiet on the island," he admitted as she continued to knead his back. The tension there was unbelievable. "I used to play to sold out stadiums. You'd think I could take a little crowd of family and friends." He sighed heavily and looked over his shoulder at her. "You don't have to apologize, luv. I just… needed some air."

"I know." She rested her cheek on his shoulder, watching the play of whitecaps on the ocean, silver reflections in the moonlight. "It's overwhelming to me, too."

They were quiet for a minute, then suddenly Charlie stood up and turned to her, holding her upper arms, eyes bright. "Let's run away," he whispered excitedly.

Claire blinked at him. "What?"

"Us! You, me and Aidan. Let's pack up and go to Melbourne, or Sydney, or New Zealand. We'll leave a note saying _So long and thanks for all the (not) fish_ and just GO. What do you say?"

Claire blinked again, then laughed. "Charlie…" She shook her head. "We can't just LEAVE, Charlie. We have responsibilities here."

"To what? I told you, we'll take Aidan. We still have all the money Oceanic gave us as compensation -- we can live in style somewhere, or keep it low key. I don't care. But let's get out of here."

"Charlie, my mother… I was missing for TWO YEARS. I can't just up and leave her again, without so much as a _How d'ye do_. It would be cruel." She loosed her arm from his hold and touched his cheek gently. "Look, in a few months, when things settle down-"

"I can't WAIT a few months, Claire!" He backed away from her in frustration, and Claire's eyes widened as he turned away, gripping the porch railing with white-knuckled fists. "Do you know I have six interviews tomorrow? SIX. And it's been a bloody MONTH. I could call and cancel, but then they'll want to know why, and what do I tell them? _Oh, so sorry, I just got bloody fed up with answering the same damn question a hundred times over_." He looked at her, and his eyes were piercing. "Then there's you."

"Me?" She crossed her arms over her stomach. "What about me?"

"I never SEE you, Claire. You're either chatting with _Lady's Bloody Home Journal_ or you're surrounded by a pack of people and I can't get near you. I'm not begrudging you your family, Claire," he clarified when she glared at him, "but I miss you. Everyday I miss you. I used to have you all to myself at least SOME of the day, even if it was only at night. I could talk to you. Do you know how much I miss talking to you? Now we go to bed and fall asleep and wake up and do it all again. And again. And again." He scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair. "It's driving me MAD."

Claire's gaze softened. Letting her arms drop, she crossed the brief space between them and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her forehead on his spine. "You're talking to me now, aren't you?" she murmured, slipping her hand under his shirt to rub his stomach. "I'm sorry. I'll try to make some more time for just us, all right? I promise. But please, Charlie, you have to understand -- we're not on the island anymore. We have to readjust."

The muscles in his back were corded and tight. She wanted to kiss them loose. "I know," she heard him say, as if through gritted teeth. "But it feels like my life's running rough shod over loose cobbles. I can't seem to control it, and everything keeps spiraling away from me like a kite that's snapped its string." He sighed again. "The last time life got this out of control, I was in the jungle, itching for a fix." She felt him strain against the railing. "And I still haven't talked to Liam."

That made her wince. "Hey," she whispered. "Nothing's getting away from you. Do you think I'm going to leave? Do you think I'd let anything happen to you? I love you, Charlie. I'm sorry I've been so busy. I'm sorry you think I've been ignoring you. Sweetheart, you know that isn't true. I'll call those interviewers for you. I'LL cancel the appointments. Don't worry. I'm going to fix this, Charlie. I'm going to help you."

Slowly, he turned in her arms, until he was facing her and her chin was resting on his chest. He gave her a weak smile. "Luv," he murmured, stroking her hair, "don’t apologize. None of this is you. It's all me. It's always been me. I was spoiled on the island -- I didn't have to think about any of this. About family and home and responsibility. I just had to think about you, and Aidan, and survival."

Claire rocked gently back and forth against him. "Aren't they the same thing?" she whispered.

"Sort of. But easier."

"I'd run away with you, Charlie, if I could."

"But you can't, I understand." He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Why don't you write to Liam?" she asked quietly, pressing her cheek over his heart. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."

"If Liam wanted to hear from me, he would have found me by now."

"Are you so sure about that? From what I can tell, the Pace family lives in an emotional battleground. Maybe he thinks you blame him for the crash."

Charlie snorted. "I wouldn’t be surprised, the stupid bugger." He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back thoughtfully. "Though to be honest, I'm not entirely sure I don't. If he'd tried a little harder to stop me…Or if he'd just said yes…"

Claire kissed his throat. "Don't talk like that," she said sternly, looking him in the eye. " _If_ is a four-letter word, don't you remember? He's your brother and he loves you, even if he had a poor way of showing it most of your life. He's changed. And guess what: so have you."

Charlie raised his head and stared at the star-studded sky overhead. Claire followed his gaze and saw Pisces sitting on the horizon: two fish tied at the tail by a coil of string to ensure they wouldn't be separated. "Have I?" he asked, and she wasn't sure if he was being rhetorical or literal. "Sometimes I wonder if everything I did on the island -- kicking the drugs, being with you, everything -- were just a sham. I mean look at me, Claire. I'm a mess."

"No you aren't, Charlie. You went through a trauma and you don’t know how to come back from that. That's normal. All you need is a little help."

"You seem to be handling it well enough."

"That's because I have my family."

"I'm not going to call Liam, Claire, so don't ask."

"Charlie-"

"No."

She sighed in frustration. "Then at least TALK to someone, Charlie," she pleaded, rubbing his back. "Please? For me? We'll find you a doctor or a counselor, someone you can unload your problems onto and really let loose. I promise if you talk to someone you'll feel better. Please?"

For a moment he was silent. When his head tilted down from his study of the sky to meet her gaze, she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "I used to be able to talk to you," he whispered. "When did that change?"

Claire bit her lip, tears welling in her own eyes. "Charlie…" She raised a hand to touch his cheek but he shook free, pushing away from the railing and twisting out of her grasp.

"I'm going to bed," he said gruffly, walking away from her. If she hadn't seen the tears in his eyes she wouldn't have known they were there, for all the emotion in his voice. "Good night, Claire. I'll take Aidan."

Before she could say a thing he'd swished through the sliding doors and was gone.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Two weeks passed before Charlie's world came crashing down on a sunny day in mid-November. He was sitting on the couch reading about Jack and Kate's wedding in _People_ magazine. "Imagine those louts, not inviting us," he said, flipping through the pages. "Eloping's for wimps."

"I imagine they didn't want the paparazzi all over them, Charlie," Claire replied, coming into the living room with two lemonades and the rest of the day's mail. "At least they posted us the magazine, right? And you saw what they said in the note -- they're going to have a proper wedding early next year, and we're all invited. I think it's romantic, actually."

Charlie took the lemonade and sat up, chucking the magazine aside as she sat down on the overstuffed armchair across from him. "Why do girls always think stuff like that's romantic?" he asked, genuinely curious, as he sipped his lemonade and watched her flip through the envelopes in her hand. "I mean, don't you all dream up these fantastically ostentatious, flowery affairs when you're little girls? How does that jive with running off to get hitched at a Justice of the Peace in the middle of the night?"

Claire laughed quietly, tearing into an envelope and pulling out the letter inside. "I suppose it's the clandestine nature of it," she explained, eyes scanning the page. "A bit like Maid Marian being stolen away by Robin Hood from under the Sheriff's nose."

Charlie took another deep draught of the lemonade then set it down, shaking his head. "I still don't get it," he said after swallowing. "I mean, I suppo- What's wrong?" Claire's eyes were staring blindly at the page, her body frozen as if in shock. "Claire? What is it?"

For a split second there was no response. When she did answer, her eyes didn't move from the letter. "It's… from Thomas."

Like it was being crushed by a lead curtain, Charlie felt his good mood go flat. "What? What does he want?" he demanded.

"To see Aidan."

A derisive laugh escaped Charlie's lips. "Cheeky bastard," he said, cracking his knuckles. "What's the address? I'll let him see something, but it won't be Aidan, and it rhymes with _my soot up his sass._ "

Normally that would have made her laugh. Normally she would have teased him immediately and called him an overprotective idiot, and she would have put the letter aside and they would have talked about something else. And at some point during the day, one or the other of them would have discreetly wadded it up and chucked it in the garbage, and that would have been the end of it.

Normally.

But today wasn't normal, apparently, because she was still looking at the letter.

"Claire?" Charlie waved a hand in front of her face. "Yoo hoo, Earth to Claire. You aren't actually considering this, are you?" When she bit her lip, he had his answer. "You are, aren't you? Jesus, Claire, what are you? A masochist?"

"It's not for him, all right?" she said, looking up and finding his eyes. "I don't care about him. He can rot for all I care. I'm thinking about Aidan."

"What, you think Aidan ought to meet the son of a bitch who walked out on him while he was _still in the WOMB?_ You think that's important to his developmental growth?"

"Yes." Charlie snorted and sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't want Aidan growing up and blaming me for not letting him meet his real father, Charlie."

"Who's going to tell him?"

"Who knows what can happen in a lifetime, Charlie? What if Aidan decides to go looking for Thomas when he turns eighteen and finds out that I ignored this invitation all these years ago, and he gets it into his head that I was a bad mother for doing it? What do I do then?"

"Luv, you're overthinking this. Even IF Aidan were to go looking for Tom-ass, he'd be doing it with a clear knowledge of exactly WHAT Tom-ass had done to the pair of you. And if you don't tell him, I will, because the boy deserves to know what a right bastard Tom-ass was. So Aidan could hardly blame you for _keeping him away_ , as you put it. He'd probably thank you."

Claire sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, and for a moment Charlie considered backing off. Until she said, "Aidan IS his son, Charlie."

Charlie sat forward. "Excuse me?" he said, squinting at her. "I'm sorry, I thought you just said Aidan's his son. Didn't you just say -- not two minutes ago -- that Tom-ass could go rot for all you care? Were those or were those not your EXACT words?"

"What if he does something stupid, Charlie? What if he sues for custody?"

"Why would he do that, Claire?"

"I don't know! But what if he DOES?" When she met his gaze again, her eyes were frantic. "On the island I knew the dangers," she murmured anxiously. "I knew I could lose Aidan to the elements, to the animals, to an accident. They were known quantities. But here… Charlie, I worry EVERY SINGLE DAY about him. I worry about kidnappers, and pedophiles, and paparazzi. I worry that I'm going to give him too much candy, or not enough vitamin C. I don't know how to be a mother, for God's sake. What I know I learned on the job. But that was then, and this is now, and it is so SCARY. I can't separate the real threats from the false ones, and EVERYTHING is a black cloud. EVERYTHING. So you ask me why Thomas would sue for custody, and I tell you I don't know why, but he MIGHT. And maybe he doesn't have a chance in hell of winning even if he DID try, but then again, maybe he DOES. And that’s as terrifying as anything the island could ever throw at us, Charlie, because it would have killed me if he'd been killed by a bear, but it would destroy me totally if I LOST him." She clutched the letter in a white knuckled fist. "I don't know what to DO, don't you see that? But I have to do SOMETHING, and not doing anything isn't _something._ "

Charlie watched as she buried her face in one hand, scrubbing her eyes and rubbing her cheeks. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be fine. "Claire," he said instead, reaching across the coffee table to lay a hand on her knee. "Luv, listen to me. Write him a letter. Tell him he's a git. Tell him he's a ripe round jelly asshole and you never want to see him again. Then tell him he's never going to get NEAR Aidan. And once that's in the mail, take the letter you've got right there and burn it. Just let it go. If he ever tries to come near either of you, I'll kill him. I promise. But please, don't listen to him. Don't do what he's asking. He doesn't deserve ANYTHING from you. He's not Aidan's father." He paused, then plowed on. "I'M Aidan's father. I love you both too much to watch you do this."

Claire's hand fell away, and she met his gaze with bloodshot blue eyes. A weak, defeated smile touched her lips. "He's a demon, Charlie," she murmured. "My own personal demon. And I have to face him to make him go away." Laughing without humor she closed her eyes again. "Claire the demon slayer."

Normally he would have hung his head and admitted defeat. Normally he would have sighed and told her if that was her decision, he'd stand by her one hundred percent. And she would have smiled, and they would have squeezed hands, and then they would have finished their lemonade and finished talking about Jack and Kate's wedding, and let the Thomas affair fade into the background until tomorrow.

Normally.

But today wasn't normal, apparently, because something inside Charlie snapped.

"So that's it?" he argued, pushing to his feet. Claire's eyes opened, and she watched him with surprise. "That's how it goes? It doesn't mean a thing to you that I think it's a bad idea? I've helped you raise Aidan, Claire. I'VE been his father. Me. Charlie Pace. I'm the one who holds him when he has a nightmare, or changes his clothes when he's been playing in the mud. Aidan's MY son. He's got fuck all to do with that bastard!"

Claire's blue eyes flashed. "Excuse me? YOUR son?" She shoved up to her own feet, nose to nose with him across the coffee table. "Sorry, but which of us gave birth to him? I appear to have forgotten. It must be all the emotional stonewalling blocking my memory recall. When did YOU become the expert on family dynamics anyway? This isn't about Aidan. Don't try to turn it into something it's not. Have you spoken to Liam yet? I say Thomas is my personal demon, Charlie, but at least I'm willing to face him!"

Charlie's blood was boiling. "Don't talk to me about Liam!" he barked.

"Why not?" she snapped. "Because then YOU'LL have to talk about him? Funny thing, actually. When I was doing laundry the other week, I found something in your coat pocket." Fishing in the pocket of her denim shorts, she held up a crumpled envelope. "Look familiar?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I was going to hold off, talk to you about it when I thought you were ready. But since you brought it up…"

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "You had no right to take that," he growled.

"I didn't TAKE it. I rescued it. You haven't even opened it, Charlie. The postmark is over a week ago! Were you planning on EVER seeing what your brother has to say? Or would you prefer to stew in self pity for a little longer?"

Charlie made a grab for the letter, but she danced it out of his reach. "Give me that!" he snapped.

She ignored him. "If you're not willing to read it, maybe I will," she said. Easy as pie, she ripped the envelope open and pulled out the contents -- three sheets of crisply folded paper. " _Dear Little Brother_ ," she read. " _When I heard about the survivors of Flight 815, I was paralyzed. I didn't know what to do or how to react. I didn't know if you'd even want to hear from -_ "

Charlie ripped the letter out of her hand. "NO!" he shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger in her face. "This is MY letter. MINE!"

Her eyes narrowed. "And Aidan's my son," she said. "Any questions?"

Silence hung in the air between them. It was thick and hard and jagged like ice. Charlie could have chipped it with a chisel. "Nice," he murmured. "Glad we know where we stand now."

Something like apology flickered in Claire's eyes. "Charlie-" she began, but he didn't let her finish.

"Aidan's your son," he said, backing away around the couch, hands held up in front of him. "Fine. No problem. Have it your way, luv. Now that I know how I measure up in your eyes, I feel SO much better."

Storming to the hall closet, he threw open the door and whipped out his guitar case. Flinging it over his shoulder, he stomped towards the front door.

"Charlie!" Claire chased after him. "Where are you going?"

"Away," he spat over his shoulder.

She grabbed his arm. "Please," she pleaded. "Don’t go. Charlie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Please, just STAY. We can talk! We'll work something out!" He shook her off and threw open the front door. "What do I tell Aidan when he wakes up!" she called after him, and he got a sick sense of accomplishment at the note of desperation in her voice. God, he was a cruel bastard.

Charlie glanced back over his shoulder, one hand still on the door knob. "Tell him I went on walkabout," he growled. "It's almost true, except that it's not."

Slamming the door behind him, he tried to pretend he didn't hear her crying out his name.


	2. Past Imperfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the castaways are rescued from the island, Charlie and Claire look forward to starting life anew with little Aidan. But will the stresses of everyday life tear apart what was built so securely in the tropical sand?

_Losing you... things will never be the same_  
Can you hear me call your name?  
If we changed it back again  
Things would never be the same

~Roxette, "Things Will Never Be the Same"~

 

 

"Mumma?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Wanna Charlie."

Claire closed her eyes, cuddling Aidan close to her chest. The bed felt too big without Charlie to share it, and Aidan's small body was warm against the lonely chill. "I know, honey," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "I miss him, too." She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "Go to sleep, Aidan. Shh…"

Stroking his hair soothingly, she waited until his breathing had evened out before sitting up with a sigh to perch on the edge of the bed. Resting her elbows on her knees, she rubbed her face tiredly. This had been the longest day of her life. The argument had left her drained and shaky, and when Charlie didn't come back after a couple of hours, she added terrified to the list. A few hysterical phone calls later and she managed to establish that he wasn't at any of the places he usually went, and a few more proved that he wasn’t anywhere she was looking. This sent her into fresh hysterics, because it meant she had no idea where to start searching for him, and no hope of him surfacing of his own accord. If Charlie had proved one thing on the island it was that he was stubborn as a mule. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found.

When her mother came home an hour later to find Claire sobbing on the couch, the older woman hadn't said a thing. First she went upstairs to check on Aidan -- who was playing quietly in his crib -- then she went into the kitchen and made a plate of sandwiches. Coming back into the living room, she put the sandwiches on the coffee table, gathered her daughter in her arms, and let Claire cry on her shoulder.

"He'll come back, my baby girl," she'd soothed, rocking Claire gently, as though she truly was a baby. "The good ones always do."

That had been this afternoon. There had been no word from him in the hours since then, and Claire had been forced to tell Aidan the "walkabout" story, because she couldn't think of anything else. She debated asking the media for help, but thought better of it when she remembered how much he hated the attention his fresh fame had garnered. He was already angry at her; what good would it do to make him MORE angry?

A wave of white hot rage rolled through her. Angry at HER? What right did he have to be angry at _her?_ HE was the one who had stormed out of the house like a petulant teenager. HE was the one who had scolded her like a child. HE was the one who had tried to _forbid_ her from seeing Thomas again. Forbid her! As though she were his cavewoman bride and he was the Alpha male of a Cro-Magnon tribe!

"Shut up," she muttered to herself, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Please shut up? Please…"

Her brain hurt. She was tired of thinking, tired of worrying, tired of feeling so helpless and raw. Her eyes were sore with exhaustion and grief. She had cried more today than in the past two years combined; hours and hours of useless tears. An ocean for him, and he didn't even have the decency to call so she could apologize. Even worse, half of her didn't _want_ to apologize; what did she have to be sorry for? For having her own mind? For holding up a mirror for him to look into? Was making him face his fears really worth all THIS?

It was the letter that had done it. She should never have read Liam's letter. Perhaps he would have forgiven her if she'd just shown him the envelope, forced it into his hand. Maybe that self-imposed wall he'd built around himself would have chipped a little, and she could have whittled away at it piece by piece until she finally got him to cave in and call his brother. Why was it so important to her, anyway, getting him to contact Liam? If memory served her, they'd been perfectly happy on the island _without_ Liam's intrusion; why would it be any different back here on the mainland?

_Because you don't call someone_ Little Brother _unless you mean it, Claire,_ she thought weakly. _Not unless they mean something to you, and you meant something to them once upon a time._

There was no getting around it. Liam was a huge piece of Charlie's life -- a piece he'd been blithely able to forget on the island. But they were back on the mainland now, and all the emotions Charlie had been bottling up over their years of isolation -- anger, frustration, blame, guilt -- had come bubbling back to the surface. They were swallowing him like a steadily rising tide; isolating him in a flood of forgotten emotion. He lashed out at his friends, his loved ones, at the fame he used to crave… It was only a matter of time before he snapped on _her_. She should have seen it coming. She DID see it coming; that made it even worse. And now he was out there in the world, and she was twisting in the wind of the void he'd left behind.

Charlie had told her once that he took his first hit of heroin after an argument with Liam. Heated words were exchanged, cruel things were said, Liam stormed out, and Charlie became a junkie. As quick as that. Now Claire sat on the edge of their bed and worried herself sick about what he was doing, and who he was doing it with, and how _much_ of it he might be doing. Horrid visions of him flat on his back in an alley with a dirty needle in his arm swam through her mind, and she stood up quickly to shake the image loose.

Crossing to her dresser mirror, she took a long look at herself. Her hair was a bird's nest, and her eyes were the color of cinnamon gum. She had tear tracks down her neck from where her foundation had run, and pillow creases on the side of her face. It was like watching a horror movie and she was the plucky heroine's best friend who ended up dead at the end of the second act. "You're a mess, Claire," she muttered, tugging limply on a brittle lock of hair. "Why do you always let them do this to you?"

She could stand there for hours blaming all this on Charlie being childish, but she knew it was as much to do with her as him. _"And Aidan's my son. Any questions?"_ Why had she SAID that? It was a textbook course in calculated cruelty. Yes, she was Aidan's mother, and yes, she'd given birth to him; but Charlie was his father in every way that Thomas WASN'T -- every way but blood. To act as though everything he'd done for them meant _nothing_ … Claire never knew she could be so heartless. It terrified her, especially when she realized that for that split second during the argument, she hadn't been looking at Charlie anymore. He'd changed into Thomas. Thomas and his sophomoric, selfish attitude. Thomas jogging down the stairs and out of her life. And she'd bottled up all the vitriol that had built in her stomach for over two years and threw it at him like a Molotov cocktail made of words.

_And Aidan's my son. Any questions?_

"Yeah, I have a question," she sighed to her reflection. "How do I fix it?"

Staring at herself wasn't accomplishing anything except to depress her even further, so she turned away from the mirror, resting the heels of her hands on the dresser and staring at Aidan, sleeping snug under his favorite blanket on her bed. Her mother had bought him a teddy bear their second day back from the island, and the stuffed animal hadn't left his side since. Claire smiled as she watched Aidan sleeping peacefully, Fluffy Bill tucked under his chin as he unconsciously sucked on one of the bear's ears. Charlie would often tease her about that. _"The kid's got an oral fixation,"_ was his favorite joke. _"Not that I blame him. I mean, if I grew up nursing on a breast like yours, I'd miss it, too."_

A hiccuping laugh escaped her, and she raised a hand to nibble her fingers and muffle the noise before she woke Aidan. "Oh, Charlie," she murmured as a grin suffused her face, forcing fresh tears to roll down her mottled cheeks. "I miss you."

Thomas' letter lay open and unfolded on her nightstand, glaring like an angry eye. Claire glared right back, funneling all her anger and blame towards the offending sheet of paper. One sheet. He hadn't even used both sides. She debated taking it outside, setting a match to it and watching it burn. A fitting end, she thought, considering the hell Thomas had put her through, both before the crash and since the rescue.

Crossing the room, Claire snatched up the letter and stared at it; not reading, just staring. His handwriting was more florid than she remembered; no doubt his artistic nature taking over. She imagined him with a goatee and beret, painting strange impressionist canvases in shades of coral and turquoise blue, dedicating them to _My lost love, Claire_. Once upon a time she would have thought that was romantic. Now she found it pathetic.

Picking up the cordless phone from its cradle on the nightstand, she walked to the window and leaned on the casement. Ironically, she noticed the cell number he'd given her in the letter was the same one she still had on speed dial. Ignoring the shortcut, she laboriously typed in the full number, brought the receiver to her ear, and stared out the window at the rising moon as she listened to the line ring.

_Ring…ring…ring…_

"….Hey, it's Claire," she said when he picked up the other end. "….Yeah, I got your letter. You have nerve, you know that? And guts. Most men would realize areas of their anatomy would be in danger if they tried to contact a woman they'd scorned……. I'm glad you think I'm kidding…." She rubbed her eyes. "Shut up, okay? Just stop talking. Honestly, if I never hear your voice again I'll be thrilled. Here's how it's going to work. Next Wednesday by Archibald Fountain in Hyde Park. Noon. If you're not there by 12:15, I take Aidan and we leave….Aidan's his name…. I don't care if you like it. Didn't I tell you to stop talking? I'm doing you a favor here, not vice versa. When I say we're done, we're done, and that's it. Aidan and I go home, and you go back to whatever sorry life you've been living since you walked out on us…. I'm not _being_ harsh. You've never heard me harsh, Thomas, but you will when I see you. Next Wednesday. You've already missed two years of his life -- I think you can free up fifteen minutes."

And she hung up. Tomorrow she was going to erase him off her speed dial. No, she'd go out and buy a whole new phone.

Next Wednesday. One week. Maybe Shannon would let them stay with her down in Sydney.

With a sigh, Claire leaned her head against the window casing, holding the receiver against her chest and hoping it would ring. _Please, Charlie,_ she thought silently. _Call me up and change my mind._

But the phone stayed stubbornly silent, while the moon rose higher and out of sight.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

The sun had barely risen when the bus pulled in to Copper Springs. Charlie woke out of his doze and watched through grimy windows as the arid suburb rolled along on the other side of the glass. The only reason he'd been able to remember the place was from the oxymoron of the name. Copper Springs was dry as a bone left in the desert for a century. No doubt water had flowed here once, when the copper mines that gave it its name were still thriving; but as the mines had died, so had the town. He was reminded of the stricken mill towns of his own northern England, only baked by sun rather than mired in rain. Hollow places waiting to be filled.

_Oughta fit right in,_ he thought humorlessly.

The bus rolled to a stop at the station, engine clicking. Charlie grabbed his guitar case and stood up, working his way down the narrow aisle. Stepping out into the morning sun, he was reminded again of how odd it felt having backward seasons. It would be wet and miserable in Manchester this time of year, with Christmas creeping up around the corner. He was a stranger in a strange land.

Rather than asking for directions, Charlie let his feet lead him away from the station, trusting instinct and faded memory to lead him where he was going. People ignored him for the most part, with the occasional passerby glancing at his guitar, but nobody said anything. Perhaps they noticed the anti-social aura he was exuding, or maybe they got enough drifters in this town to know it wasn't smart to talk to them. Charlie didn't care one way or another. He wasn't in the mood for witty banter with strangers.

The house looked much the same as he remembered. The exterior paint was peeling more than it had been two years ago, and the boards of the swayback front porch were even more bleached, but other than that, identical. Charlie stopped at the foot of the cobbled front walk -- old and decaying, with patches of moss and uncut grass growing up between the flagstones -- and stared at the curtained windows. He didn't know why he was here, except that it was the only place he could think of when he was at the bus station buying a ticket. Instinct again, like a kicked dog shuffling to a favorite corner to hide.

Heaving a sigh, Charlie made his way up the uneven walkway, climbing the creaking stairs gingerly before ringing the bell. An oddly cheerful chime rang in the house, playing a tinny version of _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_. After a minute of no response, he rang again, amusing himself by imagining Judy Garland singing along to the scratchy tune. When almost another minute passed he debated turning around and leaving, finding somewhere else to spend his time. But just as he was preparing to turn, the door opened and a familiar face appeared on the other side of the screen. "Yo?" the young man asked blearily, squinting into the sun.

Charlie resisted the urge to laugh. "Over two years since I saw you last, and all you say is _Yo_?" he joked.

The other man squinted more, focusing on his face. "Charlie man, 'sthat you?"

Charlie nodded. "Hey, Roach."

There was a pause, then Roach let out a war whoop. "CHARLIE!" The screen was flung open and Charlie stumbled back to get out of the way. The other man came leaping through the door to catch him in a bear hug. "Where've you been, mate?" he asked, squeezing the breath out of him.

"Stranded on an island."

"Hey, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Deliberately?"

Charlie sighed. "No, Roach, not deliberately. That's why I said _stranded_. We got rescued a few months ago. Don't you watch the news?"

"Haven't got a TV. Don't get the paper. Only got the CD player for tunes."

Charlie chuckled, extricating himself from his friend's embrace. "Well, now you know," he said. "Can I come in?"

"Hell yes!" Roach jumped back into the house, beckoning Charlie to follow. "Come on in!"

Charlie stepped over the threshold into the dark, hazy environment of the house. The air was aromatic and thick with incense and…other things. Roach hadn't gotten his name from the bug, after all. The walls were hung with tapestries to hide bubbles in the wallpaper, and a sharp pang stabbed at his stomach when he saw a sarong working as a substitute door on one of the rooms along the dark hallway. Claire liked turquoise and coral, which was all that kept him from breaking down completely, because THIS sarong was scarlet and purple, thank God.

"Still got the guitar, I see," Roach said, leading him down the hall and ducking under the sarong. Charlie followed, and found himself in what passed as a living room, with bean bags and large cushions spread out on the floor. Roach had never been one for traditional furniture.

"Guitar, yes," he affirmed, settling down on one of the bean bags. "Bass, no. You still have your drums?"

"Somewhere." Charlie watched the other man rifling through a stack of CDs before choosing one and slotting it into an ancient stereo. After a few seconds, the familiar chords of DriveSHAFT's "Squeaky Brakes" started to play, and Roach spun around, grinning ear to ear. "Remember this one?" He mimed air guitar in time with the melody.

Charlie laughed, remembering when he'd written the song. "How could I forget?" he said, watching DriveSHAFT's former drummer dance around like a marionette on a string. "I wrote a perfectly harmless song about my car's brakes, and you and Liam somehow turned it into a song about masturbation. How EXACTLY did you manage that again?"

"Skill, and a complete lack of regard for any kind of moral high road."

"Right. I'd forgotten that." Charlie grinned, sitting back and letting the darkness of the room soothe his frazzled nerves. Roach had changed little since his days in DriveSHAFT. Longer hair and a penchant for wearing the same clothes for weeks at a time, but that was all. Same wire-thin body, same sharp features, same huge grey eyes that looked like something out of _ET: the Extraterrestrial_. Everything was the same, down to the trust fund his rich parents back in London had set up for him, which helped pay for this "deluxe" bachelor pad. His designer hashish business brought in the pocket money.

"So what brings you down this way, C-man?" Roach asked, flopping down on the cushions next to Charlie and propping up on his elbows. "Have you talked to Liam lately?"

Charlie resisted the urge to flinch at that name. "No, not lately," he hedged, staring at the laces of his sneakers, already scuffed and dirty after only a few months use. "I haven't seen him since we got back, actually."

"Really? That's a bit of a rub, isn't it? You two were close."

"Yeah." Charlie shrugged, looking around the room. "Things just haven't settled down enough to search him out, you know?"

"Things? Like what things?"

"Just…things."

"Like things with tits and an ass worth dying for?" Charlie couldn't fight his grin, and Roach howled with laughter. "I knew it!" he yelped, pounding his fist on the cushions and sitting up. "Our little boy's all grown up!"

"Oh, please, I've had plenty of women, Roach, and you know it."

"Yeah, and I've drunk plenty of Pepsi, but Coke is the ONE. So, tell me about her."

Charlie sighed, feeling his smile fade, and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think so, Roach," he said, letting his head fall back and staring at the water-stained ceiling.

He saw the other man nodding sagely out of the corner of his eye. "Girl troubles, huh? That's what brings you 'round these parts."

"Let's just say if things were hunky-dory at home, I'd be with the T&A, not here with you. No offense meant."

"None taken. I yield to the power of a nubile young body."

"From what I remember, you'd yield to the power of just about any body."

"Well, obviously."

Charlie laughed again. It was amazing how easy it was to laugh here. Some of it was likely due to a contact high, but not all of it. Roach didn't have any expectations, and Charlie hadn't felt really comfortable around anybody since leaving the island. People expected him to be a certain way here -- they expected him to be the Charlie Pace who clung to DriveSHAFT until his fingers and gums were bleeding. Nobody expected the Charlie Pace who'd lived through a fiery crash, fought down some pretty serious demons and come through alive. It was disheartening, to say the least. More than that, it was dispiriting to discover he didn't know how to fight those perceptions, and he was sinking further and further into that old life again. He thought he'd found himself on the island -- his true self. But it turned out he'd only misplaced himself for a while. They hadn't been back three months, and he'd already lost his way again. Where was he going to be in six months time?

Would Claire bother to help him find his way back?

He wanted to kick himself for storming out on her the way he had. Childish, acerbic, self-serving… Everything that defined Charlie Pace pre-crash. He was spiraling backward with frightening speed, and he saw no way to slow his descent. He didn't blame Claire if she never wanted to see him again. God, he'd spent all that energy deriding Tom-ass, but then he'd turned around and done the SAME BLOODY THING. He'd abandoned them: Claire and Aidan. Things had gotten difficult and he'd walked away, leaving them in the dust. Just like Tom-ass.  
  
_"I've got a plane to catch."_

Just like himself.

"C-man, you all right?" Charlie looked up to see Roach watching him with a puzzled look on his face. "You went spacey there for a minute, and you haven't even smoked anything yet."

Charlie forced a smile. "Yeah. I was just… thinking."

"Well don't. You look like a Commerce Secretary -- grim and pissy."

Charlie chuckled. "I'll try to remember that."

"Don't bother. I'll remind you if you forget. You want a drink?" Roach leapt to his feet and went to a mini bar fridge beside the stereo. "We've got rum and coke, gin and tonic, seven and seven…"

"Do you have anything NON-alcoholic?" Charlie asked, amused.

"You really HAVE been away, haven't you? Here." He took a wine cooler out of the door of the fridge and tossed it to Charlie across the pillows that littered the floor. "I keep it for the birds, but since your tender stomach probably can't take anything harder…" Roach winked at him.

Charlie snorted. "I can still drink you under the table any day of the week, Roach, and you know it." Still, he wedged the glass bottle against a loose baseboard and gave it a tug, popping off the sharp metal lid. Taking a deep swig, he let the sweet, fruity alcohol coat his throat. It was virtually Kool-Aid for all the kick it gave him, but on an empty stomach after years without a drop of liquor, he could already feel a warm buzz in his lips.

"So you're on the outs with Liam," Roach said, settling next to him with a glass of something that looked like scotch on the rocks, "and your bit of stuff kicked you out on the street. You're having a rough week."

"Try a rough life," Charlie sighed, swirling the wine cooler in its bottle before taking another drink. "A long, rough, pitiful fucking life."

"So why'd you come here?" Charlie looked at him, perplexed, and Roach shrugged. "No offense, C-man, but we weren't exactly best buddies when we were in the band. We were friends, but I don't think you ever spilled your soul to me, and ditto the other way 'round. Why'd you come HERE for moral support? You could have called the Samaritans or something."

Running a hand through his hair, Charlie shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I was standing in the bus station, staring at the signs, and the little man behind the counter asked me, _Where to?_ And I said Copper Springs." He shrugged. "It was instinct."

"Ah. Instinct I understand. Instinct is our basest animal impulses, the barest minimum for survival." Roach grinned. "I know what you want."

"A new life?"

"Would be nice, I'm sure, but this'll have to do." With a flourish, the drummer produced a perfectly twisted marijuana cigarette. "A roach from Roach is like a Hallmark card," he paraphrased, complete with Kenickie accent. "You care enough to send the very best."

In hollow places you find hollow people, and all their inventive ways of filling up again.

Charlie stared at the cigarette for a minute. The buzz in his lips had moved to his fingers, and they were literally itching to reach out and take the joint. It would be so EASY. He could already taste the smoke.

It took him completely by surprise when he realized he was shaking his head. "No thanks, mate," he said. "Not interested."

Roach arched an eyebrow at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

"If you say so, C-man. More for me." He flicked open a lighter.

"But Roach?"

The other young man looked up from the flame. "Yeah?"

Charlie swallowed. "You got anything stronger?"


	3. Back in the Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the castaways are rescued from the island, Charlie and Claire look forward to starting life anew with little Aidan. But will the stresses of everyday life tear apart what was built so securely in the tropical sand?

_"You're so far away,_  
So far away,  
You left me…  
You told me you would stay.  
You never said goodbye,  
And I'll keep asking why…"

_~Roxette, "So Far Away"~_

 

 

Charlie didn't remember much about the week that followed. Old habits were hard to break, but they were frighteningly easy to fall back into when occasion called for it. Roach had access to good, high-quality heroin thanks to a friend of his from the record business who was based in southeast Asia. Charlie's skin soaked it up like water to a sponge; as if he'd been made for the stuff. He hadn't realized how stretched and dry his skin felt during his years of sobriety. He felt limber now; loose. As if he could tackle the weight of the world head on, Atlas-style. He was man, hear him roar.

At least… That was how it went on the good days.

The bad days weren't really days. They were hours, but they felt like days. They were the hours between when his buzz began to fade and when he took the next hit. Everything would grow a little less colorful, a little less dreamy. Suddenly the world would be in focus, full of sharp angles and dark shadows and bright, accusatory sunlight. Those were the hours when he'd find himself staring at the wall, blind to everything else around him, wondering how the hell he'd fallen so far so fast, and when would Roach get back from the store or the beach or the bar to give him his next dose? This was how far he'd fallen, that Roach didn't even trust him to measure out his own hit.

Today was a bad day. It was Day 1pm to 2pm, which was ALWAYS a bad day, especially when the sun was out. It would cut through the moth eaten curtains and throw Charlie's life into stark relief against the walls, bold and black and hollow. He didn't like the afternoon. It made him think of days on the beach with Claire's head on his shoulder as she dozed in the sun and he watched Aidan build sandcastles at the high-tide line.

To escape the light, Charlie retreated to the room that had been dubbed "his" while he stayed here. The window was covered with blackout cloth, and the walls were spattered with black-light sensitive paint. An incandescent bulb dangled from a wire in the center of the room, casting garish, unfiltered light across the rumpled bedclothes. The room was small and cramped, just a bed and a dresser and a chair to throw his clothes on; but it was his. For the moment, at least. Until he could get himself together and face the world outside again.

Slamming the door and falling on the bed, Charlie threw an arm across his face and tried to focus on his breathing. Perhaps he'd fall asleep. Maybe he'd dream.

_You're the rock god, baby brother._

Charlie grimaced. "Oh, shut the hell up," he muttered to the empty air. "You and all the rest of you shut up. I'm not bloody crazy and I'm not hearing damn voices. Got enough of that on the island, thank you very much."

_We walk away._

He sighed and took his arm away so he could rub his eyes. "Yes we do," he said aloud. "We walk away. That's what the Pace brothers do, isn't it? We start something, then we walk away. Fuckin' hell…"

Pushing himself up, Charlie swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet. Resting his elbows on his knees, he ran his hands through his hair. "Let's count, shall we?" he continued. "I used to be a good clean Christian boy. That's out the window. Liam! You used to be the lead singer of a bloody rock band. Nope, not anymore. Now you want to be Mr. Cleaver."

Dragging his fingers down his face he stood up and walked to the dresser. On the wall above the bureau there hung a frameless mirror, chipped on all sides with a hairline crack running diagonally across the middle. Charlie stared at himself. Christ, he looked like hell. The tan that had been with him since his second week on the island had begun to fade, and he was starting to turn a sickly shade of pale. Dark, bruised circles of exhaustion painted the skin beneath his eyes, highlighting the unnatural sharpness of his cheekbones. He was getting too thin again. Natural, of course, when your diet for a straight week consisted almost entirely of alcohol, heroin, and Coca-Cola.

"But it doesn't end there, now does it," he said to his reflection, shaking his head. "Ohhh no, it just gets better from there. See, Liam, YOU walked away from ME when you left the band. Remember your baby brother? Yeah? Like hell you remember me. Like hell. Else you would have thought, _Hey, maybe I ought to THINK about what my actions are gonna DO to my own goddamn flesh and blood._ Huh? Maybe you should have THOUGHT!" He was getting angry now. He hadn't gotten angry -- really angry -- since his fight with Claire, and thinking about that just made him angrier.

"So I walked away from YOU, now didn't I!" he shouted at the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection. "I FUCKING walked away from you and your goddamn hand of mercy! I didn't NEED you, _BIG BROTHER_. I NEVER fucking needed you! **I** was the rock god, remember? You were just a sodding PARASITE!"

_What the bloody hell use are you!_

"SHUT UP!" Charlie roared. "Just shut up! I didn't need you on the island, and I don't need you NOW!"

Balling up his fist, he lashed out at his reflection, howling with rage. The weakened glass shattered under his hand, the wickedly sharp edges sinking into the flesh between his fingers and lacerating his knuckles. Charlie barely felt the pain as he watched the shards of mirror tumble down off the wall, taking his fractured reflection with them. He stared at the clean rectangle of wall where the mirror had hung. Compared to the rest of the wall, the patch was positively sparkling.

Letting gravity drag him down, he flopped back onto the bed, propping his head awkwardly against the wall. Raising his arm, he watched as blood flowed over the back of his hand and began to trickle down his forearm. He felt it pooling in the palm of his hand. It was oddly enthralling.

_So, you guys hiked all the way up on that mountain for nothing, huh?_

Claire's voice came unbidden to his head, like a flashlight in the dark. "Yeah, I guess we did," he mumbled, flexing his fingers, watching the blood glint in the harsh glare of the lightbulb. "All for one, and all for nothing." He sighed and dropped his arm, feeling it fall across his chest. Readjusting his head, he stared blearily at the water-stained ceiling.

"I miss you," he whispered.

The voice stayed stubbornly silent. All Charlie could hear was the incessant pounding of blood in his ears and the grating rasp of air in his lungs.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

Then, kicking up violently with a booted foot, he felt his toe make contact with the light bulb, shattering it like spun sugar. Wafer thin shards of glass tinkled down around him, some landing on his body, one right beside his closed left eye. The room went utterly black, save for the dim light that filtered around his door.

"I hate you," he muttered to the room in general. When no voices answered, he gave up and slept.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

"Oh my God, look who it is!"

Claire laughed, watching with sparkling eyes as Shannon scooped Aidan up in a bear hug. "You're getting so big!" the other young woman said, looking into the little boy's excited blue eyes and grinning. "I think you're going to be taller than me soon!"

"Remember Aunty Shannon, Aidan?" Claire said, rubbing her son's back. "Say hello, sweetie."

Aidan laughed and wrapped his arms around Shannon's neck, kissing her cheek and hugging her tightly. Shannon laughed, closing her eyes and hugging him in return. "Ohhhhh, I missed you," she said, rocking the little boy side to side. Then, opening her eyes again, she smiled at Claire. "Come on in," she said, gesturing with her head for Claire to enter her apartment. "I'll make coffee."

Claire smiled and followed the other young woman through the door, holding Fluffy Bill tight against her stomach. The apartment was enormous, and absolutely sparkling. The color palette for the furniture consisted of every shade of white and cream imaginable, with the occasional flash of a pale pink throw pillow or a lemon yellow coffee mug. Everything else was sleek, black and ultramodern The floor plan was airy and open, with the furniture separated into little sitting areas around an enormous plasma screen TV. A fur rug -- polar bear, Claire noted with amusement -- took up most of the floor in front of the largest overstuffed cream sofa. A pair of sliding doors in the far wall led out onto a tenth floor balcony overlooking downtown Sydney, with a clear view of the prominent opera house nestled in the harbor.

"Espresso? Cappucino?" Shannon asked from the kitchen, where she had a cupboard open and Aidan propped on her hip.

"Whatever you're having would be great, Shannon, thanks," Claire said, letting her eyes drift over the lush, high end furniture. "This place is absolutely beautiful," she mused aloud.

"Yeah, mom is using it as a way to allay her guilt," the other woman said from the kitchen. "I'm not going to argue with her if she wants to pay the bills. No no, Aidan, don't touch that."

"You can send him out here, Shan. I'll take him back."

"I don't want to let him go! I haven't seen you guys in over two months! Hang on, almost have it… There." She emerged from the kitchen, still carrying Aidan, grinning. "It'll just take a couple of minutes to brew. I hope you don't mind plain hazelnut. I'm feeling organic."

Claire laughed. "Not at all." Holding out her arms, she took Aidan from Shannon's hold, tucking Fluffy Bill into his arms. "How's Boone?"

"Bonehead's fine," the other woman responded, sitting on the biggest sofa and gesturing for Claire to join her. "He's in L.A., working out the kinks in that TV deal with the studio."

"So that's going through?" Claire asked, sitting down and adjusting Aidan in her lap. The little boy was squirming, his head swiveling in every direction, trying to take in the new environment.

"Yep. You'll probably get a letter about it soon, verifying your permission. I still can't believe a studio wants to make a TV show about us." She snorted. "A movie, that'd make sense. But a TV show? Everyone knows how it ends -- it was all over the news for weeks. It'll never work."

"Oh, I dunno. I think it's got possibilities."

Shannon chuckled. "Yeah, well, it's got plenty of romance, right?"

Claire managed a strained smile. "Yeah," she agreed, gently smoothing a flyaway lock of Aidan's sleek blonde hair.

"Uh-oh." Shannon sat forward. "You went, like, six shades paler when I said that. What's wrong in dreamland?"

Claire managed another smile, trying to seem less forced this time. "Nothing, Shannon, really."

The other woman rolled her eyes. "Claire, would you PLEASE stop trying to be all strong and suffering? That went out with leopard-print spandex. Where's Charlie?"

Claire sighed and raised her eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly, resting her chin on Aidan's head as the little boy toyed with one of Shannon's pillows. "I haven't seen him in almost a week."

"WHAT?" She crossed her arms over her stomach. "What did he do?"

"What makes you think he did anything?"

"He's a guy. It's always the guy's fault. You're a woman, don't you know that?"

Claire smiled for real this time, though it was small. "No, it wasn't his fault," she disagreed quietly. "I was too confrontational. We both… said some harsh things. He…" She swallowed, fighting down the lump of fresh emotion that had risen into her throat. Dammit, she'd gotten past this. "He took his guitar and… and he left. And that was the last I saw of him."

Shannon laid a hand on her arm. "Hey, it's going to be all right, okay?" she comforted gently. "Why were you arguing?"

Claire barked out a laugh, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand and staring at the ceiling to hold back the tears. "I don't know!" she said. "Isn't that silly? I don't even remember anymore. He didn't like me coming down here to meet Thomas, that was what started it. But that wasn't what the argument was about." She pulled her fingers through her hair. It still amazed her how silky it had become with simple shampoo. "I don't even know why I got so angry. He had a legitimate complaint, you know? I just… didn't like the idea of him telling me what to do." She kissed the back of Aidan's head, and giggled a little through her tears when he reached behind him to bat her face away playfully.

"That doesn't sound too unreasonable."

"He would disagree with you."

"You're allowed to make your own decisions, Claire. It's good to take what he's saying into account, and if it changes your mind, fine. But it's YOUR decision." Shannon rubbed her arm again. "I'm sure Charlie was just worried about what was best for you and Aidan. You know he's always been protective. I bet it's killing him right now, being away from you."

Fresh tears sprung to Claire's eyes, and she bit her lip as they overflowed onto her cheeks. She tried to speak but couldn't as her throat closed up. She looked at Shannon helplessly.

Shannon's eyes widened. "Aidan, sweetie, why don't you play on the floor for a bit," she said, not taking her eyes from Claire's face.

"Wanna Shanana!"

Shannon smiled, reaching for the little boy and lifting him off Claire's lap. "Shanana banana has to talk to your mommy, kiddo. You just play with your teddy, okay? Mwah!" She kissed him on the cheek and set him on the floor, where he proceeded to start petting the bear skin rug, talking to it in his secret toddler language.

Claire watched the scene through blurred eyes. Her head was aching and her mouth felt sticky and she just wanted to collapse and scream her heart out like a dying woman on the rack. When Shannon's arms wrapped around her, she clung to the other woman like a life raft, crying as quietly as she could against her friend's shoulder. "Shhh," Shannon soothed, rubbing her back. "Shhhh, honey. It'll be okay. Shhh…"

"I'm so scared…!" Claire gasped, sucking in air and sobbing it out again. "He was so _broken_ , Shannon. You didn't see him. It was like he… he'd split in two! Oh God…" She dug her fingers into Shannon's back, pressing her face into the other woman's shoulder. "What if he does something stupid? What if he goes and… and gets drunk, and steps out into traffic? What if he does something… something WORSE? Charlie…!"

Shannon didn't say anything, and Claire was thankful for that. Somehow, between sobs and gasping breaths she managed to spill all the details of the argument with Charlie. She told Shannon everything -- about the letters, about Charlie's eyes, about what they'd said, about how much it had hurt to watch his back disappear down the front walkway, just like Thomas all over again. Just exactly like Thomas all over again.

In the end, when she had no tears left in her, Claire leaned on her friend and watched Aidan play quietly on the floor with Fluffy Bill. He'd always been a quiet child -- not introverted, just quiet. Perhaps it came from living on an island where too much noise could make you some wild animal's next meal. Or maybe he'd just never felt the need to say much or make a fuss. He had an extended family that cared for him like their very own, and parents who loved him madly. Or, he'd HAD parents. He was running one short on those now.

"He's gotten quieter since Charlie left," she murmured, knowing Shannon would know she meant Aidan. "He still talks, but not as much. And he barely ever cries."

"Did you take him to a doctor?"

"He's fine."

"Are you sure?" Claire nodded against her friend's shoulder. "How do you know?"

Claire sighed and sat up. "Because I’m his mother," she said softly. "I just know." Reaching out, she trailed her fingers over Aidan's cheek. He looked up at her with huge blue eyes that looked so much like Charlie's, it would have made her cry again if she'd had any tears left. "You miss daddy, don't you, sweetheart?"

Aidan grabbed her hand, tugging. "Mama," he said, pulling on her arm insistently. "Mama!"

She laughed softly. "You want mummy to come down there and play with you, sweetie, is that it?"

She heard Shannon snort behind her. "Well, fine. Ignore me. Pfft! Shanana Banana's going to go slave over the coffee while you two have fun."

Claire laughed, grinning over her shoulder at her friend as she let Aidan pull her down onto the rug. "Hurry back! Aidan misses his aunty already. Don't you, Aidan?" Aidan kissed her on the cheek, tumbling forward into her lap.

Shannon laughed. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, standing up. "But I expect a kiss, too, when I get back. Do you hear me, kiddo?" Aidan stuffed Fluffy Bill's paw into his mouth and waved at his adoptive aunt. Shannon waved back, grinning, before turning away to go back to the kitchen.

Claire cuddled Aidan close under her chin. "Yeah, you just wanted to cheer mummy up, isn't that right, sweetheart?" she murmured near his ear once they were alone, rocking him gently from side to side. "My smart little boy. You always make mummy happy." She hugged him tightly. "I love you so much." Rubbing his back, she sighed and closed her eyes. "I love you…"

This was the part where Charlie was supposed to pounce on them from behind and start tickling them both mercilessly. But he didn't.

 

\----------------------------------------  


 

"Charlie? C-Man, you okay? Come on man, open your eyes, huh? Come on…"

Someone was hitting him. Not hard, but insistently across the face. It was making his head pound. "Stop that…" he slurred, waving his hand in front of his face to shoo the other person away. He winced as pain washed down his arm. "'Mawake…"

"Thank Christ." It was Roach. "I thought you'd gone and died in my guest room. That would have been fun to explain." Hands were pulling at his arms now, trying to get him to move. "Come on, C-man, sit up. You're twisted like a pretzel. Lemme take a look at that hand."

Opening his eyes a fraction of an inch, Charlie winced. Someone had taken the blackout cloth off his window, and orange afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room across his bed. Roach was hovering in front of him, pulling and yanking him into a sitting position. Moaning, Charlie complied, letting the other man maneuver him into a 90 degree angle against the wall. "Time is it?" he asked hoarsely. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt heavy.

"Almost five. Shit, man, you did a number on this hand. What'd the mirror do, call you a dogfucker or something?" Craning his head around, Roach shouted over his shoulder, "Oy, Alia! Get me the first aid kit out of the bathroom! And a coupla bottles of water out the fridge!" Turning back to him, Roach shook his head, eyes serious. "You were on one helluva bad trip, mate. Alia and I come back to the house and it's dead silent and I just KNEW something hinky'd gone down in here. You're damn lucky that door doesn't have a lock, else I might have just thought you were shacked up in here with some bird you got over the phone." He winced as he prodded at Charlie's hand. "Doesn't look like there's any glass in there still. Lucky for you. That means this is just gonna hurt like hell, not hurt like hell AND tear you up even worse."

"This what you wanted, Roach?" A pretty young woman with short brunette hair appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of flip-flops, a denim mini-skirt, and a pink baby-doll t-shirt that read _How did I get so cute?_ She held a small First Aid kit in one hand, a pair of water bottles in the other. "Hey, is he gonna be okay?" she asked, wide-eyed as she stared at Charlie.

"Yeah, he's going to be fine, babe, just gimme what you've got there." Roach reached behind him and Alia hurried into the room to hand him what she was carrying. "Can you get my coat too, baby?" he asked over his shoulder. "I forgot to ask before." Alia nodded and scurried back out the door.

"She's cute," Charlie said, watching as Roach poured some of the water onto some gauze and began swabbing blood off his forearm.

"But she'd be better as a blonde, yeah?" Roach snorted. "I've seen the pictures in your wallet, man. You're all kinds of screwed up, you know that? Here." He pressed the other water bottle into Charlie's good hand. "Drink. You sound like a toad with laryngitis."

Charlie twisted the cap off the bottle with his teeth and took a gulp of water. It was sweet on his dry tongue. On the island, water had been the only available drink, except for the occasional cup of coconut milk. When they got back to the mainland, he'd ended up bouncing off the walls for a week because he couldn't stop guzzling soda. "Sorry 'bout the mirror, Roach," he said, when he'd polished off half the bottle. "I got a little carried away."

"Yeah, I noticed." He abandoned the wet gauze and picked up a fresh piece, soaking it in peroxide. "This is gonna hurt, C-man. Bite on something and thank God it's not iodine."

Charlie gritted his teeth as Roach brought the gauze down to his hand. The sting was incredible -- his hand felt like it was on fire. He felt cold water wash over his other hand as he squeezed the bottle into submission. "Oh… shit, that hurts…!" he gasped, watching the peroxide foam on his abused hand.

"Yeah, I bet it does," Roach muttered, swabbing away. "But it's this or gangrene, take your pick."

Charlie closed his eyes, his body tensing and flexing with the pain as it seared up his arm. When it suddenly stopped, his eyes snapped open and Roach swam into watery focus. "I'm gonna bandage you up, Charlie," the other man said, taking a bandage from the first aid kit. "Then you're going to leave."

Charlie blinked, his vision clearing a little. "Hey, what?"

Roach looked up from where he was winding the bandage around Charlie's hand. "You don't belong here, Charlie," he said seriously. "Like I said, I've seen the pictures in your wallet. What the fuck are you doing here, mate? You've got a girl like that, and a kid like that, and you're HERE?" He shook his head, looking back to his work. "Your priorities boggle the mind."

"Don't lecture me, Roach, all right?" Charlie snapped, straightening up against the wall. "You're one to talk."

"Yeah, I am, actually," Roach argued right back. "I've lived here a helluva lot longer than you have, and I don't just mean the damn house. I know what this life is like, all right? And I'm cool with it. I've got my niche and I live in it. But you…" He looked up again, wide gray eyes puzzled. "You've got this whole other great thing out there, and you've decided you're just going to curl up like some bug in its damn cocoon and let the world step on you. Forget that, man. I'm not in the habit of watching guys self-destruct in my guest room." He snipped off the bandage, tying it off neatly. "There, all done. Where the hell is Alia? ALIA!"

"You've got lots of jackets, Roach! Which one do you want!"

"For God's sake, Alia, the one I was JUST WEARING!"

"Oh! Right! Hang on!"

Roach sighed and chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Women, huh?" he said, giving Charlie a half smile. "Can't live with 'em, can't have mind-blowing sex without 'em. Well, you can, o' course, it's just not the same."

Charlie didn't bother to smile.

A few seconds later, Alia came scampering back into the bedroom, carrying a gray pullover hoodie. "Here you go, Roach," she said, handing it to Roach, then draping herself over his shoulders as he fished around in the pocket for something. "Heya, Charlie. How're you feeling?"

He gave her a quick nod. "Pretty as a picture in a palace parlor," he said, out of habit more than anything.

"That's cute," Alia said, rubbing Roach's chest. "Isn't it, Roach?"

"Adorable. Okay, here we go." The other man pulled a familiar, powder-filled plastic baggy out of the pocket and held it up between them. "There's a three day supply in here," he said firmly, shaking the baggy. "Take it. Get yourself back to Brisbane, all right? Fall onto that pretty thing's neck and tell her all your problems, then get yourself some rehab. You got me?" Charlie reached for the baggy, but Roach pulled it away. "Do. You. Get me?" he reiterated.

"Yes, I bloody get you," Charlie snapped, glaring at him. "Can I have the sodding stash?"

Roach pressed it into his hand, and for a split second, it was three years ago in Sweden, carousing in the streets of Stockholm. "Three days, Charlie," the other man said, breaking into the memory. "I don't want to hear on the news that you went and took it all in one go and died on the bus from an overdose."

Charlie glowered at him. "I think I know how to take it, Roach," he retorted, sliding forward until he could push onto his feet. For a second the room swam around him, and he wondered just how much blood he'd lost. Quickly recovering, he stared down at the former drummer. "Anything else, mummy?"

"Yeah." Roach rubbed Alia's arm and looked up at him. "I'm doing this because I'm your friend, C-man. So believe me when I say I don’t ever want to see you again. I won't take it personal, I swear." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Now get out of here. And don't walk out the door. Run."

"Bye, Charlie," Alia said sadly, wiggling her fingers at him in a wave.

"Bye, Alia," he muttered. "Roach."

The other man didn't even look at him.

Charlie snorted and stuffed the baggie in his pocket. "Whatever," he growled, grabbed his guitar case, and stormed out the bedroom door.

The first bus out of town was going to Brisbane. He bought a ticket for the second.

Noon the next day saw him standing outside an unfamiliar apartment door. He debated knocking; perhaps he should just turn around and go to the nearest bar and get drunk. Drunk would be good. So what if people looked at him funny this early in the day -- he needed a buzz, and he was already a day lower on his stash.

Right. The bar it was.

Or would have been, if the door hadn't chosen that very moment to open, revealing a familiar figure in an unfamiliar bathrobe.

"Buddy, you're standing on my pape-" the figure began, then stopped, eyes widening. "Charlie?"

Charlie managed a smile. "Yeah."

"DUDE!"


	4. Maybe It's Just You

_"Babe it's time_  
to tell me that it's over,  
tell me that it's over,  
it's plain to see.  
And this time  
we won't be starting over…"

_~Roxette, "The Heart Shaped Sea"~_

 

 

"Did I wake you?"

"Nah, I just wear the bathrobe so I don't get anything on the clothes when I'm having lunch. Dude, you want something? A drink? A snack?"

Charlie sat carefully on Hurley's recliner, enjoying the butter soft leather as it wrapped around him. A week on a threadbare mattress couldn't begin to compare. "No, I'm good, mate," he called back to his friend in the kitchen, setting his guitar on the floor by the chair.

"I'll get you some apple juice."

Charlie laughed. "Hurl, I just said I'm good!" He looked around the apartment approvingly. The walls were what a designer would have called "mellow gold," accented with strong reds and deep browns in the furniture. The recliner was part of a set, with the rest of the living area taken up by a three-seater sofa and another recliner, all in the same supple brown leather. The glass-topped coffee table was COVERED in comic books. Stacks of magazines, movies and newspapers were everywhere the eye could see. Hanging in a place of honor above the entertainment center was what Charlie could only assume was a first-print, original promo poster for _Star Wars: A New Hope_ , signed by Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. Warm sunlight poured through the French doors at the back of the apartment, giving the place a lived in, comfortable glow. The air smelled like toast and chocolate, and despite his earlier protests to the contrary, Charlie realized he was famished.

Just as he was about to call out to Hurley to inquire about getting a snack after all, he found a plate being shoved under his nose. On it was the biggest roast beef sandwich he'd ever seen, complete with tomatoes, lettuce, pickles and Swiss cheese. His mouth started watering the instant he caught a whiff of the mustard.

"Take it," Hurley said, and Charlie quickly reached up to take the plate from his friend. The other man put a tall glass of the promised apple juice on a coaster on the end table at Charlie's elbow before taking a seat on the leather sofa. "You look like you haven’t eaten in a week. Desert island chic is so yesterday, dude."

Charlie chuckled. "You sound like Shannon," he said around a mouthful of the sandwich, grinning at his friend. Under the bathrobe his friend had been wearing a pair of designer khakis and a t-shirt that made him look way hipper than Charlie could ever achieve himself. Hurley had slimmed down considerably over his two years on the island. Since being back on the mainland he'd gained back a few pounds, but nothing close to his previous weight. He looked _healthy_ , as Charlie's mother would have put it. _Healthy_ , not _skeletal_.

_Not crack-addict skinny,_ Charlie thought grimly, and the roast beef turned to sand in his mouth. _Nope, only special people and supermodels can pull that one off._

Hurley shrugged. "It's kind of my business now, man." He picked up a magazine off the coffee table and tossed it in Charlie's direction.

Catching it one-handed, Charlie glanced over the cover, which was graced by a picture of Hurley in a pair of pants that were obviously ten sizes too big for him. " _The Island Diet_?" he read aloud, looking up and meeting the other man's eyes. "You're going into business now?"

"Hey, people like diets. Well, okay, no one likes diets, dude, but I figured it worked for me. Might as well share it with everyone else."

"So what are you going to do, take groups of fifty people at a time and strand them in some kind of survivalist camp where they have to fend for themselves for a week?"

"Sort of. It's going to be groups of fifty people at a time, but we bring them to a really plush resort with all kinds of amenities, and the menu is going to be all kinds of pork and fish and tropical fruit. And there's rock climbing, and hiking, and swimming-"

"And golf?"

"-and golf, yep, can't forget that. And spelunking, because why not. Shannon and I have been working on it together for the past month or so. She's getting her mother to put up the funds to get it under way."

"Shannon? Really?"

"She grew up, dude. And she's the most vicious bitch of a haggler you'll ever meet. We were talking with these investors from California, right? And they were giving her a real hard time about the spelunking business. And she just RIPPED INTO them. It was like Princess Leia strangling Jabba the Hutt in _Return of the Jedi_. Their eyes were bugging out by the end, and she had them signing on the dotted line in no time. It was awesome."

Charlie laughed and took a swig of his apple juice. "Well, good luck to you, mate," he said, tipping his glass in salute in Hurley's direction.

"Yeah, it's going to be awesome. What've you been up to, dude? I keep checking my mail waiting for a wedding invitation from you and Claire, but no beans yet. What's up with that? Weren't you swearing left, right and center on the boat that you were going to make her an honest woman or something?"

Charlie stared into his apple juice. "Yeah…," he hedged, swirling the liquid around in the glass. "Something like that…"

"Oh…" Hurley shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Something happen, man?"

Charlie shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "I just don't really know what." He took another long drink of apple juice, wishing it was scotch or whiskey or bourbon. Something that burned.

"Um… I'm guessing it was something pretty BAD, if that helps. When did it happen?"

"A week ago."

"Dude, a WEEK? And you don't know what it WAS?" Charlie didn't answer. "Geez, man, give her a call! Patch things up!"

Charlie shot him a glance. "Why?"

Hurley snorted. "Because you two were made for each other?" he suggested. "I dunno. Because you were inseparable on the island, and stuff like that doesn't usually go away? Because you look like hell, and I'm pretty sure it's not all motion sickness from the bus ride here."

Charlie tried to keep up the glare, but failed miserably. With a heavy sigh he put the plate on the coffee table, his glass back on the coaster, and buried his face in his hands. "Hurley, there're too many layers here, man," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He could feel his body burning through the heroin like a coal furnace. He was going to start twitching soon. "Claire doesn't want to see me right now, and I really don't think I can see Claire." _No matter how much I want to_ , he added silently.

"Why not?"

"Things."

"That's not an answer, dude."

"Just THINGS, Hurley. Bugger, Hurl, when did you become such a nag?" He threw himself back in the chair and twisted his head around to the side so he could stare out the French doors and pretend he wasn't being such an asshole.

"Oooookay," Hurley said, drawing out the O. "So, lemme get this straight. You haven't seen Claire in a week because of some argument that you're really not too clear about. You don't think she wants to see you, but you haven't talked to her to actually have her TELL you that. And you don't THINK you can see Claire, even though everything about your body language is screaming that you want to." He nodded. "Sure, dude. Makes sense to me. Nothing weird there."

Charlie began bouncing his foot. "You weren't there, Hurley, all right?" he said, tapping his fingers on his knee. "You didn't hear the things we said to each other. They weren't very nice, all right? Trust me, Claire doesn't want to see me."

"What about Aidan?"

Charlie closed his eyes and stopped moving. He didn't want to think about Aidan. "She doesn't want me seeing him either, I imagine," he murmured after a moment. _I don't want me seeing him either_ , he thought, uncomfortably aware of the baggie in his pocket.

"Dude, you're putting words in her mouth. You know she HATES that."

That made Charlie smile. Claire HATED when people talked for her. She said it made her feel like a Muppet. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know." He sighed, his smile fading. "Which just goes to show, I'm really not her kind of guy, right? More fuel for the evidence fire."

Hurley rolled his eyes. "Dude, I don’t know what you two were fighting about, but I can almost guarantee you it's not as bad as you're making it seem." He stood up. "Look, I have to run out for a bit. You just crash here and I'll be back later this afternoon. Use the phone -- I don't care if you run the bill up to a million bucks, but CALL HER. All right? And take a bath."

"What? Why?"

"Because you reek, dude."

"Oh." Charlie sniffed himself and grimaced. "Sorry."

"Yeah, look, I have some spare clothes I haven't worn yet. Shannon bought them for me to wear to business meetings and stuff, but I'm never gonna wear them. They itch like crazy. They're in my bottom drawer. I think they'll fit you, but they might be a bit long. Take 'em, wear 'em, and burn what you've got on now. I think that's the only way you're gonna kill whatever's living in the creases."

Charlie managed a smile. "Thanks, man."

Hurley smiled back. "Sure thing. Love you like a brother, Charlie, but let's not hug, all right? You know, until you take that bath and all."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah," he agreed with a chuckle. "Sounds good."

Hurley nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door, wiping his hand on his pants leg as he went.

Charlie waited until he heard the door lock behind the other man before reaching into his pocket and taking out the familiar baggie. It was noticeably smaller than it had been even yesterday when Roach gave it to him. He wondered if there had really been three day's worth to begin with, or if he was unconsciously taking larger doses than he was supposed to. Roach was a professional -- he was willing to believe the latter.

With a heavy sigh he dragged himself out of the chair and stumbled to Hurley's bedroom. Rifling through the other man's bottom drawer he found a pair of black pants and a white button down -- one of several -- in a plastic bag from some high end retailer he'd never heard of. Taking them, he wandered back into the living room and then into the guest bathroom, which was a soothing shade of blue. He wondered if Shannon had hired Hurley an interior decorator, because if there was one thing Charlie and Hurley could agree on, it was that you couldn't beat plain old beige when it came to walls.

Stripping out of his clothes, he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror as he drew a bath. His arms dangled by his side like matchsticks; his ribs pressed through his skin like a washboard. Black eyes stared at him from out of an ashen face.

He was holding the phone.

When had he picked that up?

Looking down at it, his eyes automatically dialed Claire's cell number: _555-1532_. He knew it by heart, even if it was only a couple of months old. She'd bought it almost immediately upon returning to the mainland. Charlie had held off and not gotten one for himself; a piece of him still wanted to cling to the isolation of the island. But Claire had thought a cell phone would be a good idea with Aidan around, as an emergency contact if nothing else.

He wondered if she had it turned on.

He ran his thumb over the buttons of the phone. _5-5-5-1-5-3-2_ … They formed an inverted pyramid, if you followed the pattern with your eyes. He wondered if that was symbolic of something. Maybe that his life was going downhill? Maybe that everything he cared about was swirling down the drain? Maybe that he was going to hell?

Sighing, he put the phone down on the top of the toilet and shut off the faucet. Stepping into the tub he sank down into the warmth, feeling his muscles loosen, careful to keep his bandaged hand out of the water. Scrubbing at himself with his good hand, he tried to imagine all the grime and misery of the past week sluicing away. Dunking his head under the water, he shook his entire body, as if trying to shake off every particle of disappointment that had come to rest on his skin in the past two months.

When he finally surfaced thirty seconds later, gasping and dripping, he turned his head and eyed the phone. Reaching out, he wrapped his bad hand gingerly around the receiver and brought it closer. After a few seconds of staring, he brought his thumb to the ON button and pressed it. He could hear the dial tone, and for a second he almost put the phone down again. But then his thumb drifted over the 5.

He pressed it.

There. That hadn't been so hard. Just six more to go.

5.

Five more.

Four… three… two…

One.

Charlie realized he was shaking, his thumb hovering over the 2. He didn't want to get into another fight. He felt like he'd been fighting everybody -- Claire, Roach, his brother, himself -- for a straight week. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Worse, his high was beginning to wear dangerously thin. The tremors were already starting. He could see his hands shaking, could feel his stomach twisting anxiously in his abdomen.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. _Don't be a coward, Charlie_ , he scolded himself angrily. _Or are you just going to walk away from this, too?_

"Dammit…!" he hissed under his breath, pounding his head once against the edge of the tub. "You're a wanker, Charlie Pace," he sighed miserably. "God I hate you."

Pressing the receiver against his forehead he tensed every muscle in his body, screaming internally; a deep, primal scream that shook his bones and stretched his lungs. Pressing the ON button again, he listened to the dial tone wink out before letting out an animal howl and throwing the phone with all his strength into the living room. He heard it hit the far wall before clattering to the floor. Covering his face with his hands once again, he sank under the water -- heedless of his bandages -- and screamed into the water, letting it absorb his fury. The ripples of his rage rebounded around him, and he debated ever coming to the surface again.

 

\--------------------------------

 

"Aidan, sweetheart. Come here, baby," Claire called, holding out a hand to her son, who was toddling away from her. "Don't go out of mummy's sight, sweetie."

The little boy turned around, clapping his hands and beaming. "Log!" he exclaimed, pointing with Fluffy Bill to the carved image of Theseus defeating the Minotaur that was one of the focal points of Archibald Fountain.

Claire laughed. "I'm sure Mr. Locke would love to know you think he looks like a Greek hero, sweetheart," she said with a chuckle. "Come 'ere," she added with a smile, holding her arms open for him. He scampered back to where she sat on the edge of the fountain and buried himself in her embrace. She hugged him tightly. "Ooh, my good boy!"

Hyde Park was lush and green in the sun, and the area around the impressive fountain was bustling with tourists, families, and friends meeting up for a day in the city. She'd chosen this spot as a way to blend in, hoping all the people would keep her from making a scene when Thomas eventually appeared. Maybe he'd stay true to his stripes and not even come. She could hope, right?

"Hi, Claire."

She closed her eyes. Well, so much for hope.

"Hello, Thomas," she said evenly, opening her eyes and sitting up to level him with a disinterested gaze. "Long time no see, for obvious reasons."

He looked almost exactly as she remembered: tall, lanky and dark-haired. There was no beret, as she'd imagined, but he did have what looked like the early beginnings of a goatee, which almost made her burst out laughing. What struck her the most was how plain he was; a throwaway face in the crowd. If she'd seen him on the street, she wouldn't have distinguished him from the rest of the passersby.

She'd cried bitter tears for THIS guy?

"Is that him?" Thomas asked; to fill the silence, she suspected. He sounded a little nervous, but that was to be expected. He was probably in fear for his life.

"No, he's someone else's little boy," she said deadpan. "I decided I didn't like mine, and she didn't like hers so we swapped. Good deal, huh? After all, he's just a kid, right? Not important or anything." Thomas shot her a look, which made her laugh derisively. "Oh, don't look at me that way, Thomas. I'm just trying to see what it must be like to think like you. It's fascinating."

Ignoring her, Thomas squatted down to be eye-level with Aidan. "Hey there, little guy," he said with a smile. "I'm your daddy."

Aidan watched him placidly, sucking his thumb.

"He has a daddy, Thomas," Claire told him plainly. "You're not him. You might want to try something else."

Thomas sighed and looked at her. "You're not being very helpful," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to be? Because I don't remember that being part of our arrangement."

"Claire, I'm… I'm TRYING to make up for what I did to you. To both of you. All right?"

"It's a bit late for that, Thomas," she snapped, rubbing Aidan's back. "You had plenty of time to make up to us WHILE I was pregnant. Months and months of time, to be exact. This feels more like a way to allay a guilty conscience than a way to make up for walking out on us."

"And is that so bad, Claire?" he asked, standing up. "For me to want to feel less guilty? I was an absolute wreck for six months, thinking about you. I barely ate, I couldn't sleep…"

Claire gazed at him coolly. "So what were you doing for the last year and a half?" she asked. "Playing checkers?"

"That's not fair, Claire. I had to move on. We ALL had to move on."

"Fair enough. But why weren't you at the dock when we got back? Hmm? My mother was there, and we weren't exactly on speaking terms either, before the crash. She was there with open arms. Where were YOU?"

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Good guess. You should have stuck with it."

"Look, I wrote to you, didn't I?"

"TWO MONTHS after the fact!" she argued accusingly. "What took you so long, hmm? If you were really wracked by such a guilty conscience, I'd have thought you would have been sending me letters once a day every day from the first day I got back. Maybe calling the house. Maybe dropping by to see how we were doing. You know what, Thomas, I don't think you DO feel guilty. I think you wanted to see Aidan so you could tell everyone you DID, because what kind of monster wouldn't want to see his own son after the little boy and his mother had been rescued from a desert island after two years?" She put on a simpering face. "Oh, aren't you special for making the effort to see your little boy? It's been a nightmare for the past two years, thinking about what an asshole you'd been. Oh, yes, you were such a terrible person. See how you make penance? See how you lay yourself on the altar?" She snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder and hoisting Aidan into her lap. "Newsflash, Thomas. Selfish people don't change their spots unless they're forced to change. Everything isn't about YOU. I doubt you were glad when I disappeared, because I think you're human; but I bet after a week you stopped thinking about it. Guilty? Why would YOU feel guilty? YOU didn't do anything. I was the one who got on the plane, after all. Right? It was MY choice, not yours. Am I close?"

"Why are you sniping at me, Claire?" he asked, holding his hands out to either side. "Does it really matter why I'm here? I grew up while you were missing. I had time to think about things; about you, me, the baby. I want to see you, I want to see Aidan. Isn't that enough?"

Claire stood up. "No, actually, it's not," she said, staring him down. "I grew up too, Thomas. A lot more than you did, I can guarantee that. And you know what I figured out? I don't NEED you. Isn't that wonderful? You're free! You don't ever have to worry your vacant little head about us again. So why don't you go on home so I can take Aidan home and give him his nap?"

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm his FATHER, Claire," he said. "Shouldn't I be allowed to see him?"

Claire stared up into his eyes. "I told you," she said, trying to keep her voice from boiling over with rage. "He has a father, and you're not him."

"Then where is he?"

"That's none of your business," she said bitterly. "Goodbye, Thomas." She hoisted Aidan more comfortably onto her hip and began to walk away.

"Did he walk out on you, too?" Thomas shot after her, and she stopped walking. "Is that it, Claire? Did you run another one off with your plans and your rules? Did you try to make someone ELSE fit into one of your picture perfect frames, and they bolted?"

She turned slowly, eyes simmering with rage. "You bastard," she whispered. "Don't you dare try to blame me AGAIN for what you did."

"I'm not talking about me, Claire," he snapped. "I'm talking about YOU this time. You can say all you want about how I'm a selfish son-of-a-bitch, and maybe that's true. But there are two sides to every break-up. Have you ever stopped to look at _yourself_?"

Shaking with anger, she stalked back to him, raised her hand and slapped him sharply across the face. His head snapped to the side, but he didn't wince.

"Meeting over," she whispered, voice trembling with fury. "But one last thing. Aidan?" The little boy looked at her, sucking absently on his teddy bear's paw. She pointed at Thomas' face. "Tom-ass," she said, very clearly and distinctly, her eyes locked with Thomas'. "Remember that, sweetheart. THIS is Tom-ass."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed off through the gathering crowd. So much for not making a scene.

On the bus ride back to Shannon's apartment, she buried her face in Aidan's soft blonde hair and breathed deeply, trying to rein in her emotions. That had felt good. After so many years of bottling up all her rage, finally being able to let it out was the most cleansing catharsis she'd ever experienced. It was as though a thousand pound weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

_If Charlie would just talk to Liam-_

The thought choked off and she felt her breath hitch. There had been a grain of truth in what Thomas had said. Sure, he was a selfish bastard, but she'd fallen in love with him, hadn't she? She'd known what he was like -- the free-range, artistic type. Why had she believed he'd want to be anything as regimented as a father? Why had she tried to make him into something he wasn't?

Was she doing the same thing with Charlie? Was she trying to make him into someone he wasn't? Was she trying to force her square framework of right and wrong onto someone whose life was a circle?

_No,_ she thought desperately. _Charlie's self-destructing. I'm just trying to help…_

No. She was trying to fix him. He had to fix himself, or it would never stick. Only one problem -- he didn't WANT to fix himself.

"Oh, Aidan," she murmured, resting her forehead on the glass of the bus window and sighing. "What's mummy supposed to do, sweetheart?"

"Dada," he said solemnly, patting her cheek.

Claire smiled at the little boy. "Mummy misses daddy, too, sweetie," she agreed, taking his tiny hand in her own and rubbing her thumb over his palm. "I wish he was here."

She got off at the next stop to get a bite to eat at her favorite downtown cafe, because she didn't feel like talking to anybody just yet and the anger had made her hungry. She ordered a hamburger with everything imaginable heaped on top, and Aidan shared her fries. When they finally made it back to Shannon's apartment later that afternoon, her spirits were flying high.

"So, how did it go?" Shannon asked immediately as Claire stepped through the door.

"As expected," Claire said, sitting down as the other woman locked the door. "We fought and I left." She put Aidan on the floor and he immediately started running around. She laughed, watching him.

"I'm pretty sure there was more to it than that," Shannon said, flopping down next to her on the couch. "Talk."

Claire opened her mouth to begin, but shut it when the phone rang. "Hang on," Shannon said, reaching backwards to grab the phone off the console table behind the couch. "Shannon Rutherford?" she said into the receiver. Her face lit up. "Hey, Hurley!" Claire smiled at the name. "What? Yeah, she's here, why?" Shannon shrugged her shoulders at her, and Claire furrowed her eyebrows, confused. "What? Oh my G… Yeah, hang on! I'll give you to her." She took the phone away from her ear and held it out to Claire. "It's Hurley, Claire," she said, eyes serious. "It's about Charlie."

Claire gaped at her for a second. "Oh God…" she breathed, feeling her life drain out of her toes into the rug. "Oh no…"

She dived for the phone.


	5. Conscious Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the castaways are rescued from the island, Charlie and Claire look forward to starting life anew with little Aidan. But will the stresses of everyday life tear apart what was built so securely in the tropical sand?

_"Love sleeps all alone._  
The cold telephone,  
I know the heart.  
Yes, I know the kind.  
The kisses of fire,  
turning to gray.  
I never wanted it this way.  
I always wanted you to stay…"

_~Roxette, "Half a Woman, Half a Shadow"~_

 

 

"Hurley?" Claire gripped the phone in a white-knuckled fist, pressing it tightly against her ear, as if she could force herself through the holes in the receiver and end up on the other end of the line. "What is it? What's wrong? Did something happen to Charlie?"

"Whoa, Claire, take it easy," Hurley responded. She could picture him holding up a hand to slow her tumble of words. "Don't worry about it, he's sleeping it off."

"Sleeping it off? Sleeping WHAT off? What happened!"

"Okay, here's the deal. He came by my place earlier this afternoon looking like he'd been living in a ditch for the past month or so. I gave him something to eat, then I had to run to the bank for some business -- Shannon could explain all that. When I got back, I found him passed out in the tub."

"Oh my God…"

"It's all right, Claire. He was breathing and everything. I think he just hadn't gotten a lot of sleep in the past week or so and nodded off. Anyway, I got him out of the bath and into bed, so he's going to be okay. Look, did he call you while I was out?"

Claire met Shannon's worried eyes. "No, I don't think he called…?" Shannon shook her head. "No he didn't. Was he going to?"

"I told him he should. I didn't know if he had, though, cuz when I got back I found him in the bath and my phone in about sixteen pieces on the living room floor. I guess it must have said something he didn't like."

Claire rubbed her forehead. She was beginning to get a pounding headache. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, to fill space until she could think of something else to say.

"I tried you at home. Your mother said you were with Shannon."

"Right."

"I think you oughta come see him, Claire."

She sighed, hanging her head and rubbing the back of her neck. "I know," she admitted. "But he doesn't _want_ to see me."

"Dude, do you guys have, like, a script or something?"

"What?"

"Charlie was saying the same thing, only vice versa. If you're both convinced the other one doesn't want anything to do with you, I think it kind of means you're both going crazy without one another. Like a double negative. Don't you think?"

Claire felt a small smile touch her lips. "He wants to see me?" she murmured.

"That's, like, the understatement of the century, man. Woman, I mean."

So he'd forgiven her. It was like a shadow being stripped from her lungs. She could breathe again. "What did he say about me?" she asked, suddenly giddy. "Anything?"

"Only that you wouldn't want to see him, and you wouldn't want him seeing Aidan."

Claire furrowed her brow. "Why would he say that? I practically begged him to stay when he left. Of course I want to see him! I've been worried sick I never would again!"

"Well he doesn't seem to think that." There was a significant pause on the other end of the line. Then, "Uh, Claire, there's something I think you should know."

Without having to be told, Claire knew the _something_ wasn't anything good. Hurley never sounded grim; it wasn't in his personality to be morose. Nevertheless, she could picture the dark look on his face. "What is it, Hurley?" she asked, feeling any remaining elation fade away like mist under a harsh wind.

"Well, you know how I said I think he just fell asleep in the tub?"

"Yes?" She licked her lips, feeling her mouth go dry.

"I think he had some… help."

Visions of highly-paid prostitutes danced in her head. "What kind of help?" she asked, shocked at how angry she sounded. Softening her voice, she added, "Was there someone else there?"

"Uh… no. He was alone."

"Then what? Hot milk? Lullabies? Nyquil?"

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Realization dawned. It was funny, really, how your brain could hopscotch around the obvious when you didn't want to admit the truth.

"Oh no…" she murmured, closing her eyes.

"Yeah," Hurley said softly on the other end of the line.

"How much?"

"I dunno. I've never done the stuff, so I can't really judge. I don't think much. I found a baggie in his pocket when I was getting rid of his clothes. It's not brown sugar, that much I can tell."

Claire wanted to scream in frustration and remorse. She almost did; almost put down the phone, buried her fingers in her hair and screamed at the sheer unfairness of it all. He'd come so FAR, done so WELL. What right did the world have to dig its claws into him again and start to unravel all the hard won threads he'd used to stitch himself together?

"Okay, Hurley, thank you," she murmured hoarsely, massaging her temple. "Where are you at?"

"Shannon's got the address."

"Okay. Thanks, Hurley."

"Claire, you know this isn't your fault, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's not."

"I know, Hurley."

"You sure?"

She sighed. _No_ , she answered silently. "Lemme get some things straight. I'll be over in a bit, all right?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, Hurley. I'll see you soon. Bye."

She hung up the phone. The world was spinning and she was somehow stationary, watching it revolve wildly around her like a lunatic dervish. Closing her eyes to block out the nauseating sensation she murmured, "Charlie's using again."

The sentence was met by a soft intake of breath from Shannon. "Do you think it's heroin?" she asked tentatively. Claire managed a quick nod. "Oh God, Claire…" Her friend's slim fingers ran soothingly through her hair. "Hon…"

That was all the prompting she needed. Heedless of where she was, who was around her, Claire broke down. Like a house of cards she crumpled forward over her knees, sobbing.

"Claire?" Shannon sounded a little panicked. "Claire, what-"

"I don't know what to DO!" Claire gasped, hugging her legs and rocking side to side. "I should KNOW! We had to make life and death decisions every DAY on the island, and I always made the right ones. That's why I'm still alive! That's why we're ALL still alive!" She sat up, eyes streaming, and stared at Aidan, who was staring back at her with placid eyes.

"I'm a mother," she moaned, bunching the upholstery of Shannon's couch in her hands. "I'm supposed to make good decisions. I'm supposed to KNOW what to DO! But… but I can't! I thought I knew what was right before, and all I did was drive Charlie away! Just like I drove Thomas away! Just like I drove my mother away!" She buried her fingers in her hair, feeling her breath start to come in panicked gasps. "Oh… Oh God, I can't think… What am I supposed to do! _Please, help me!_ " She didn't know who that last bit was meant for but she begged it out anyway.

Shannon's arms wrapped around her comfortingly. "What are you talking about, Claire?" she demanded, rubbing Claire's back firmly. "Who did you drive away? Thomas left because he's an asshole, not because you made him go. Your mother broke off with _you_ , not the other way around. And she figured out the error of her ways, didn't she? What makes you think Charlie's any different?"

"I don't know how to help him, Shannon," Claire whispered tearily. "On the island, it was so cut and dry."

"On the island we couldn't be self-absorbed, Claire," Shannon clarified. "Trust me -- I know. We all had to adapt and work together to survive. We couldn't be self-destructive. But it didn't turn us all into a choir of angels, and some of us were more damaged than others when we crashed. There was always going to be a danger that we'd relapse if rescued. We went from being a unit to being these far-flung individuals who suddenly had to remember how to function with only ourselves as committee, while dealing with a whole bunch of real world issues that we could forget about on the island. Charlie didn't know how to handle those things before he crashed -- he didn’t have a frame of reference to help him when he got back. So he fell apart."

Claire raised red-rimmed eyes to look at her friend. "What…?" she managed.

Shannon grinned, cat-like. "Dr. Garrison, twice a week, $300 an hour. My mother's paying. She thought Boone and I would need therapy after the island, and I never turn down free anything." She shrugged. "It must be working, since you can stand to be around me. Guess I _didn't_ relapse."

Claire managed a smile through her tears, then sighed. "But Charlie wasn't ALONE this time," she argued plaintively. "He had me."

"For how long?"

Claire blinked. "What do you mean? Forever."

Shannon shrugged again. "Maybe Charlie didn't see it that way. Maybe he figured he only had you till he lost you. Fear of abandonment. Self-fulfilling prophecies are pretty powerful things. Now the world's back to how he remembers it. He's alone and he's dealing with it in the same way he did before the crash."

Claire turned her bloodshot eyes back to Aidan, who was quietly playing with Fluffy Bill and one of Shannon's pillows. "He wasn't going to lose us," she murmured.

"Why not? The way he sees it, he lost everything else."

_"Thank God you love me, Claire, because I don't think I could stand it if I didn't get to have you like this, all to myself."_

Claire blinked. His voice sounded so near, so alive, she almost looked over her shoulder to make sure he hadn't appeared in Shannon's apartment. The rest of the dialogue tumbled through her ears, and she closed her eyes, remembering.

"Well you do get me. And unless you do something REALLY asinine, you always will."

"I'm prone to being asinine, so could you be more specific?"

"I'll let you know if you're ever close, all right?"</i>

Claire shook her head. "The idiot," she whispered, opening her eyes and staring into the distance. "He wasn't anywhere close."

"What?"

Claire looked up into Shannon's eyes. "He didn't lose everything," she said, skipping over the question. "Some things are constant."

"Like what?"

"You mean like who."

 

\-------------------------------------

 

"Charlie? Dude, wake up."

A gentle hand was shaking him, and Hurley's quiet voice played like an echo in Charlie's ear. Slowly, with great effort, he opened his eyes and the world swam into fuzzy focus. The bedroom was dark and unfamiliar, sparsely furnished but clean. A shade had been pulled down over the window, though judging by the blackness of the room, it was nighttime. Hadn't it been afternoon when he arrived at Hurley's apartment?

"Time is it?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and wincing as he realized he was using his injured hand.

"Almost seven at night. I came home around one and found you out cold in the bathtub. You've been out like a light for, like, six hours, dude."

Charlie could just make out Hurley's shadowy form hovering by his bedside. "Sorry, mate," he apologized. "I guess I just fell asleep."

"No problem. That's what a guest room's for, right? You scared the bejeezus out of me, though. You want to not do that again, please?"

Charlie laughed huskily. "Yeah, I'll try."

He watched Hurley move around to the foot of the bed and lay something on the blankets. "Here're those clothes I loaned you," the other man said, patting the small pile. "I went out and bought you some socks and stuff, cuz I threw out all your other clothes."

"Thanks, Hurl."

"No problemo."

Suddenly, Charlie's heart seized in his chest. "Hurl," he said, trying not to panic as he pushed up on his elbows. "Did you… Did you say you threw OUT all my other clothes?"

Hurley nodded; Charlie could just make out the movement through the dark. "Yeah. Don't worry, I rescued your wallet."

Charlie swallowed. "Did you-"

"I threw out your clothes, dude," Hurley said, cutting him off. "I figured you needed a clean start, yeah?"

Charlie closed his eyes and flopped back onto the pillows. "Yeah," he agreed, raising his hand to rub at his face. "Yeah, I do."

"Yeah you do," Hurley reiterated. Charlie felt him pat his feet through the blankets. "Come on, dude, get up and get dressed. You have a visitor."

Charlie dropped his hand, staring at Hurley in confusion as the other man walked to the bedroom door. "I what?"

"You've got a visitor," Hurley repeated, stopping by the door and looking back at him over his shoulder. "You think I was gonna let you hang out here and not tell anyone?" He snorted. "Dude, dude, dude. Haven't you learned yet that I'm always gonna watch your ass?" Shaking his head and chuckling, Hurley opened the door and slipped out into the bright wedge of light before closing the door behind him.

Charlie stared at the door for a minute. There was really only one person Hurley would have called, and that was Claire. A throbbing pain began to build behind Charlie's right eye.

"Bollocks," he whispered, and tossed off his blankets.

Dressing in the dark so he wouldn't have to look at himself, he made his way to the gleaming outline of the door. It was a bit like Judgment Day, he decided as he opened the door, letting in a flood of incandescent lamplight that nearly blinded him. Everything had been stripped away -- his clothes, his drugs, his anonymity -- and now it was time to face the pearly gates. Only these pearly gates happened to belong to a beautiful woman with a megawatt smile and way too much love in her heart for a has-been junkie with a history of unreliability.

He squinted into the light as he wandered down the brief hallway to the living room. No one was there. "Hurley?" he called out, perplexed, eyes sweeping the room. "Hello?"

"He stepped out for a bit. Figured we'd need the privacy."

That wasn't Claire. Last Charlie had checked, Claire wasn't British. Or male.

Charlie felt his blood turn black. Slowly, with great care, he turned his head in the direction of the kitchen, where the voice had originated. "Hello, Liam," he said through gritted teeth.

The other man stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room light, a glass of water in one hand. He looked as Charlie had remembered him, but older. Much older. Older than he should have been after only two years. Lines creased the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth. "Hello, Charlie," he said with a faint smile. Holding out the glass, he asked, "I got you some water. Thought you might be thirsty."

Charlie didn’t budge.

Liam bobbed a nod. "Right," he said, looking away. "I'll just put it down then, should I?" He set the glass on the end table nearest the kitchen and wandered away to stare at a pile of magazines on Hurley's kitchen table. "Your friend is very well read."

"What're you doing here, Liam?" Charlie sniped acidly.

"I was told you were here and that I should come see you. I agreed."

"Who told you? Hurley?"

"No. A very nice young lady named Claire." Charlie's heart stopped for a second as Liam turned to face him again. "She sounded worried sick about you, baby brother. I understand the feeling."

Charlie bunched his hands into fists. "I don't need you or her worrying about me," he snapped, moving away from the hallway and going to stand in front of Hurley's TV, as far from Liam as he could manage. "I'm a big boy, all right? I can take care of myself."

"Is that why your friend found you half-drowned in the bathtub?"

"I wasn't half-drowned, all right? I fell asleep."

"Of course you did."

"God, you're the bloody same, aren't you? Two years and you haven't changed an iota. Still the same arrogant, hypocritical asshole." Charlie shook his head in disbelief, turning his back on his brother and staring up at the _Star Wars_ poster above the TV. "Get the hell out, Liam. I don't need to talk to you."

He heard a sigh. "I knew this would happen," Liam said, and Charlie could picture the frustrated look on his brother's face. "Two years I've tried to practice this meeting, and I always managed to botch it up, even in my head. I'm sorry, baby brother. I'm not here to lecture. I just want to talk."

"I said I don't need to talk to you."

"I think you do. Claire thinks you do."

"Well you and Claire are wrong. All right? I said get OUT."

"I wrote you a letter."

"I threw it out."

"Will you please look at me, Charlie? It's been two years since I've seen your face anywhere but in the papers. I'm your BROTHER, for fuck's sake. I'm not asking for a hug, but can I please at least look at you?"

Squaring his shoulders, Charlie turned around. Liam was leaning against the back of the couch, and smiled a little as he turned. "Whose fault is it that you haven't seen me, huh?" Charlie asked, ignoring the smile and loading his voice with all the venom it could handle. "I've been back for months, Liam. MONTHS. You could have come to see me anytime since then. Where were you when we got back, huh? Why weren't you waiting in Brisbane? Everyone else's bloody family was there -- WHERE WERE YOU?"

Liam's smile faded and Charlie felt a rush of sick glee as his brother looked down, abashed. "That was a mistake, Charlie," the other man said quietly. He laughed self-derisively, shrugging and looking up again. "You know I'm not a man who makes good choices on the first go-round, Charlie. Never have been. I've always been a screw up. It's sheer luck Karen took me back after all my assing about."

"So what makes you think seeing me is a GOOD decision, eh? Most people would figure out when they're not wanted and stay away."

Liam nodded, pushing into a standing position. "True," he said, walking slowly around the couch. "But not being wanted and not being needed are different things, baby brother." He stopped and met Charlie's gaze head on. Charlie refused to blink when he saw tears in his brother's eyes

"Cor, I've missed you, baby brother," Liam whispered. "You don't know how much."

Charlie stared at him for a second, then barked out a laugh. "What, so that's supposed to make it all right?" he asked in disbelief. "You just come in here and tell me you missed me and suddenly all's forgiven? What BLOODY planet are you from, _big brother_? All's NOT forgiven!"

Liam nodded, holding out his hands to him. "I know, Charlie," he said. "I know it's not. Shit, brother, do you think I don't know that? Two sodding years all I've thought about is how could I come to you and ask you to forgive me and work with me and see me again, when I'm the one who sent you off to crash in the first place. I didn't even know if you were alive! I tried to hold onto that hope, but God, Charlie, there were days I couldn't SEE because all I saw were funerary curtains and you dead behind them! We had a memorial service, did you know that? Karen said we should do it, because she saw it was eating me up inside and she thought I needed closure. She was right, o'course, but I knew it wouldn't work, and it didn't. We had this photo of you, in a gilt frame, and we stood it on the altar in our local church. Everybody filed past and paid their respects, except me. I stood there, after everyone else had left, and I stared at that picture and tried to imagine you were on the other side, listening. But I COULDN'T. I couldn't do it, baby brother! It didn't help me lay you to rest -- it made me believe all the stronger you were alive. I _had_ to believe you were alive, and that we could fix what went wrong between us. Because you're my brother and you might hate me, but I _love you_. I needed to let you know that face to face."

Liam had moved towards him during his soliloquy, and now they were face to face as they hadn't been in years. The age was more prevalent now, the crow's feet more pronounced. Charlie wondered, if his brother had aged this much from worry, how much had HE aged from self-inflicted hell? "Well now you've said it," he said evenly. "You can leave."

Liam's face fell. "Baby brother, please, don’t push me away," he pleaded. "I want to fix this."

"Fix WHAT, exactly?" Charlie demanded, pushing Liam backward. "What, our brotherly connection? What bloody connection? All we ever did was _use_ each other! Or have you forgotten?" He stormed past his brother, heading for somewhere, though he didn’t know where. Away from those eyes that were all too familiar and all the things they stirred in him.

"That's what I want to change, Charlie!" Liam called after him. "Dammit, Charlie, I want to be your brother for once. I want you to be Megan's uncle. I want you to come by at Christmas, and New Year's, and for birthdays and block parties. I just want us to start again!"

Charlie came to a stop in front of Hurley's French windows. All of Sydney stretched out beneath his feet, blinking and glimmering in the night. "Are you asking me as a brother?" Charlie snorted, staring at the cars as they moved sluggishly through the street below. "Are you going to look out for me? Because that's always worked so well in the past."

"I want us to forget the past and start fresh. That's what I want, baby brother."

Charlie spun around and stared at him in disbelief. "Forget the past?" he asked. "You want me to FORGET?" He threw his hands out to the side. "Do you need me to remind you what you're asking? You're asking me to forget the fact that you RUINED MY LIFE! You took me away from the only thing that ever meant SHIT to me, and you turned me into a junkie asshole who didn't know his dick from a Dixie cup! You stole my MUSIC from me! You stole my BAND from me! You ruined my goddamned future, you arrogant bastard son-of-a-bitch, and now you want me to act like it's all _okay_? Are you fucking NUTS?"

He was shaking: from withdrawal, from anger, from the pent-up emotion of years in the shadow cast by his brother's limelight. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated Liam in that moment; his lean, rakishly handsome brother with the devilish grin and a twinkle in his eye. All the girls loved him; the music industry slobbered over him. They wanted his whiskey-stained voice and his condescending swagger and his bloody Manchester accent. But they didn't want the brother. NOBODY wanted the brother.

"You walked away from me, Liam," he snarled. "You turned me into this…this THING that I couldn't recognize anymore, and then you walked away! Like I was some sort of science experiment you threw together with your chemistry set, and when I didn't turn out like you wanted, you chucked me in the trash bin and decided you wanted a show dog instead. You went and got a pretty wife, and a cute kid, and settled down in a neat little house with a white picket fence and a bloody sandbox and forgot all about me until you were FORCED to remember. And now you have the _gall_ to ask me to FORGET?"

He turned away again, frustration painting his features. "I don't want to forget, Liam," he said, leaning against the window and watching the traffic move. "Sometimes I think hating you is the only real emotion I have left."

Silence hung between them like an iron curtain -- their own personal Cold War. Charlie could feel his brother's eyes skimming over his shoulders but didn't bother to turn around.

"I deserved that," Liam murmured finally.

"You're damn right you did."

"All right then, baby brother. Let's not forget the past. We couldn't anyway, even if we tried. But -- Charlie? Please look at me."

No, he wasn't going to turn.

"Please?

_Fuck you._

"You're my little brother, Charlie. I'm supposed to look out for you, and I failed. Trust me, no matter how much you hate me right now, it's nothing compared to how much I've hated myself. Ask Karen -- have her tell you about the hospital." Charlie felt the hairs on his neck stand up, but he refused to turn around as Liam continued on. "I don't want to do that again, baby brother. I'm not going to walk away from you, because the last time I did that I lost you. I used to be a good brother, once upon a very long time ago -- I want to be that person again. But I can't do it alone. You have to LET me be your brother. I can't force it on you, and I wouldn't if I could. It has to be your choice. Just like it has to be your choice to turn around and look at me. But I'm not leaving until you do, and you can't spend the rest of your life with your back turned to the world. Isn't that how we got here in the first place? It's one thing to remember the past, baby brother, but it's a whole other thing to live through it again when you don't have to."

Charlie closed his eyes, listening to his brother's footsteps as they approached him across Hurley's plush beige carpet. "Do you remember when we'd play tag in primary school?" he asked, the memory coming to him out of thin air.

The footsteps stopped. "Yeah."

"I'd always get tagged because I was so small and couldn't run as fast as the other kids. Do you remember?"

"I remember, Charlie."

"I always ended up tagging you." He opened his eyes again. "It took me years to figure out you were running slow deliberately so I could tag you. I mean, you were at least a foot taller than me, right? You should have been legging it like Secretariat." He shook his head, staring absently at his reflection, lost in memory. "I never thanked you for that."

"No thanks necessary, baby brother."

"When did we get so angsty, Liam?"

"When we grew up and discovered girls were more fun than tree forts?"

Charlie laughed, and heard his brother's familiar chuckle just behind his shoulder. "Must have been," he agreed. "When all else fails, blame it on hormones."

Shit. He was going to cry. There was no stopping it at this point. He could feel the tears burning in his throat, building up against the dams that were his eyelids. Then Liam would hug him and he'd have to admit to the world at large that he'd missed his brother. He didn’t know if he could handle that.

"You know," he murmured hoarsely. "Girls are nice. But I miss that damn tree fort."

Pivoting slowly on his heel, he turned around.

Liam's face was a smudgy blur through the unshed tears that were going to be the death of him. "I'm sorry, Liam," he croaked, not knowing what he was apologizing for but feeling he had to say it anyway.

Liam shook his head. "You don't have to be sorry for anything, baby brother," he whispered fervently, reaching out to lay his hands on Charlie's shoulders. "NOTHING, do you hear me?"

"I've done things…"

"I've done worse."

"On the island I…" He swallowed. "I tried to… forget about you."

Liam gave him a shaky smile. "I don't blame you," he assured, squeezing his shoulders. "I would have tried to forget me, too. The conceited, self-important prig."

Charlie laughed -- a quick exhalation of breath. Liam laughed, too, after a fashion, and for a second Charlie could see his brother again, instead of the haunted man with worry lines creasing his face who had stood there a minute ago. "I missed you, Liam," he said, voice trembling. "I wanted to see you in Brisbane."

"I'm so sorry, baby brother."

They were quiet for a minute.

"Are we going to give up trying to be manly and just hug?" Charlie finally asked, breaking the silence.

Liam laughed -- a real laugh this time. "Come here, you git," he said, pulling Charlie into a tight embrace. Outside of Claire, nobody had hugged him since the day of the rescue. He'd never realized how much the action meant to him; it meant someone actually cared.

Wrapping his arms around his brother he hugged back, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the shaking in his limbs that signaled his withdrawal. Hurley had known about the drugs; part of Charlie wanted to cheer his best friend for getting rid of them, but another, much more primal part wanted to scream. He'd only been back on the junk for a little over a day, and already his fingers were itching for more. Liam would know, of course, the instant he started sweating, which wouldn't be long now.

"Where're Karen and Megan?" he asked against his brother's shoulder.

"At home," Liam answered, standing back a little and smiling into Charlie's face. "Megan's dying to meet you. She hasn't seen you since she was three."

Charlie smiled. "I'd like to see her again," he said, and meant it. If Aidan had taught him nothing else, he'd learned that he loved children.

"You can come over tonight. Karen's cooking steaks."

"Not tonight, Liam. I just…" He ran a hand through his hair, unsure how to explain.

Liam held up his hands. "No, that's all right," he said, standing back, still grinning like a madman. "No need to explain, I understand. You need some space. That's okay. I don’t want to be clingy anymore than I want to be distant. Look…" He dug around in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a receipt, then grabbed a pen off Hurley's table. "Here's my home number," he said, scribbling on the scrap of paper, "and my cell number, and our address. Call me in a couple of days, all right? It's Christmas in a couple of weeks." He straightened up and pressed the paper into Charlie's hand, smiling broadly. "You can come visit us. Bring Claire. I'm assuming she's your sweetheart."

Charlie chuckled, squeezing the piece of paper. "Liam, no one's said _sweetheart_ with that connotation since 1965."

Liam chucked him on the chin. "I'm an old-fashioned guy now, or hadn't you noticed?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye. "Just call me, all right? Or I'll find you and hug you again and make you look very unmanly in front of your little lady, all right?"

Charlie laughed, nodding. "Yes, all right."

"Promise me."

"I promise, Liam, crimeny!"

"Great." Liam grinned. "All right then. You look like hell. Do you want me to fix you something to eat? Your friend Hurley said you hadn't been feeling well lately."

Bless Hurley's little cotton socks. Liam must not know about the drugs. "No thanks, mum," he teased. "I'm perfectly capable of getting my own food. Honestly, I'm just tired. I haven't slept well for the past week or so."

"You need me to hum you a lullaby?"

"LIAM!"

His brother laughed. "All right, all right. Look, I'll leave now, okay? Give me a call tomorrow and tell me how well you sleep, all right? It's my brotherly prerogative to fuss over you now."

Charlie chuckled and took his brother by the arm. "Yes sir, Mr. Liam, sir," he said, steering the other man towards the front door. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." They stopped at the door and Liam smiled at him. "Welcome home, baby brother."

Charlie smiled back, and for the first time in a long time, it felt good. "Thanks."

It took another bone-crushing hug and about six goodbyes before he was able to shoo his brother out the door. When he was finally gone, Charlie turned around and pressed his back against the door, staring at Hurley's apartment and wondering what exactly had just happened. An enormous weight had been lifted off his chest. It felt like he'd been on a respirator all these years, and now, finally, he was breathing on his own again.

There was a knock behind him. Charlie rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, Liam," he called through the door, standing up and twisting the knob. "I TOLD you I'd call tomor-"

He stopped dead. Because it wasn't Liam on the other side of the door.

"Hello, Charlie," Claire murmured, gazing up into his eyes. "May I come in?"


	6. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the castaways are rescued from the island, Charlie and Claire look forward to starting life anew with little Aidan. But will the stresses of everyday life tear apart what was built so securely in the tropical sand?

_"Oh - can you read the hurt in my eyes?_  
Oh - don't you leave without saying goodbye.  
I got to get thru to you…"

_-Roxette, "Call of the Wild"-_

 

 

It's a well-established truism that silence speaks louder than words. If so, then there was a screaming match going on in Hurley's apartment, because nobody was saying _anything_.

Claire stood just within the door and watched Charlie's back. He was moving restlessly, actively avoiding her eyes. After a mumbled, " _Yeah, sure_ ," to let her into the apartment, he hadn't said another word, choosing instead to wander into the kitchen and begin going through Hurley's cupboards. That was five minutes ago. Now he was busying his hands making a sandwich, and the silence was getting unbearable.

"I saw your brother outside," she finally spoke up. "He looked happy."

A shrug. "Yeah, I guess."

"How do you feel?"

"Fine."

Claire sighed. "Charlie, can we please speak in sentences? Or are we still fighting? Because to be honest, I got tired of the fight while the fight was HAPPENING. How about you?"

Charlie's back was still to her, but she saw him put down the bread knife and brace his hands on the kitchen counter, exhaling loudly. "I don't want to fight with you, Claire," he said evenly. "That's not what I'm trying to do."

"Then what _are_ you trying to do? Would you please just… LOOK at me?"

"Where's Aidan?"

"Don't change the subject, Charlie."

"I'm not. I just… Where is he?"

Claire crossed her arms over her stomach. "I left him with Shannon. It's getting close to his bedtime, and I didn't know how long I'd be here." She paused. Then, "He misses you, you know. He's been so quiet without you around."

"He's always been quiet."

"Quieter. I've never been able to make him laugh like you can." She smiled fondly, remembering. "He's going to be a charmer when he grows up. Just like his daddy."

The instant she said it, she knew she was treading on thin ice. Was it just her, or had there been an audible crack beneath her feet?

"How _is_ Thomas?" Charlie asked, and if she _was_ on thin ice, the sudden chill to his voice froze it solid.

Claire sighed and shrugged her pocketbook off her shoulder. "I'm not going to get into that argument with you again, Charlie," she said, hanging the purse on a coat hook by Hurley's door and moving deeper into the apartment. "Thomas is a non-issue."

"Bloody news to me," she heard him mutter.

Leaning in the archway that led to the small kitchen, Claire said, "For your information, he is. I saw him this morning."

"With Aidan?"

"Yes, with Aidan. I'm glad, too, because he got to see just what a bastard his biological father is, and how lucky he is to have someone decent as his REAL father." She rested her head against the arch. "If he would stop sulking long enough to act the part."

Charlie turned on her then, sunken eyes blazing, and Claire felt herself take a hurried step backward. Fear wasn’t an emotion she associated with Charlie, and the fact that she was suddenly scared frightened her more than the look in his eyes.

"I'm not _sulking_ ," he snapped. Ignoring her shocked expression, he grabbed his haphazard sandwich, threw it on a plate and stormed past her into the living room. Coming up short, he turned back and crowded her against the wall.

"What makes you think I'm decent anyway, Claire?" he whispered accusingly, his breath puffing through her hair. "You thought you knew me on the island, but we aren't on the sodding island anymore, are we? Shiny pennies lose their gloss when you put them into commission, or didn't you know that?" Swirling away from her he stomped to the couch and flopped down, dropping his plate on the coffee table with a _crash!_ that made Claire wince.

She took a moment to catch her breath. Then, walking slowly, as though approaching a predator ready to spring, Claire made her way towards the couch. "People aren't pennies," she observed softly.

"No, they're worse," Charlie muttered darkly. "At least pennies are worth something." He picked up his sandwich and took a savage bite. Lettuce and tomato showered down on the plate, but he ignored them, chewing viciously.

Claire gingerly sat on the couch beside him, leaving a body width between them. He was giving off negative energy like a furnace throwing heat; it hit her like a freight train. "You're worth something, Charlie," she assured him gently. "Some things have changed since the island, but that's always been true."

"Has it?" He swallowed and turned his ugly black gaze on her. _Ugly… vicious… savage…_ These were adjectives Claire had never, EVER used when describing Charlie in her head. NEVER. "I dunno, Claire. Seems to me that island did more than just hold us prisoner. Seems to me it clouded our perceptions. Now we're back here and lookee look, things are clearing up again. Clouds are parting and the sun's shining down and the things that looked so safe and pretty on the island are turning into scary shadows. Cinderella's back to being the bloody chambermaid and the coachmen are all rats."

He threw the sandwich back on the plate, angrily sucking mustard off his thumb. Claire gasped, distracted from the conversation by his hand. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, reaching out reflexively to grab for him. "Charlie, what happened to your hand!"

It looked like he'd been in a fight with a plate glass window. Angry red lacerations ran between each finger, criss-crossing over his knuckles. She pulled his hand into her lap, turning it over so she could look at the palm. Thankfully, that seemed unharmed.

"It's nothing," he said gruffly, pulling away from her.

"It's not nothing!" she argued, grabbing the hand back again and bringing it up closer to her face. Wincing, she shook her head. "Charlie, this looks terrible. Has anyone looked at it for you?"

"I said it's fine, Claire, leave it alone."

"No. You might need stitches."

"It's not bleeding, all right? Claire, let GO!"

Grunting with frustration, Claire let his hand drop onto the couch between them. "Charlie, why are you doing this!" she demanded, holding her arms out to the either side. "I'm trying to _help_ you, or can't you figure that out? STOP treating me like the enemy!"

"I didn't ask for your bloody help, all right? I didn't ask for you to come!"

"Just because you're too much of an immature idiot to ask for help doesn't mean I don't care enough about you to offer it! But Jesus, Charlie, you've got to meet me halfway! If I didn't know better I'd think you were TRYING to make me angry!"

This time, the silence didn't scream in to fill the space between them. It dropped like a lead balloon, solid as stone.

"That's it, isn't it?" Claire murmured at last. Charlie was staring at his plate, unmoving. "You're trying to make me so angry I storm out of here, aren't you? You want me to leave and never look back."

He reached out to twitch a lettuce leaf off the table and back onto the plate.

"Oh, Charlie…," Claire whispered, feeling her throat close with unshed tears. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers through the hair at his temple, caressing it back behind his ear. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to leave you. I could never do that."

"You should." His voice was raw and stilted, like a man in pain with no anesthetic.

"Why?"

"I'm a junkie, Claire. I've always been a junkie. On the island I was just a junkie in remission. You think I want Aidan to grow up with that as a role model?" He raised his eyes and they hit her like a hammer to the kneecaps. "I'm using again."

Claire swallowed and nodded. "I know," she said softly. "Hurley told me."

She watched his face crumble. It made her think of sandcastles on the beach; the way they would melt by degrees with each wash of the surf. "Then why did you come?" he murmured, visibly confused.

Claire's mother had once owned an elegant aquamarine vase in fluted glass with a delicate tortoise shell pattern throughout. It had been an engagement present from some distant relative when Elizabeth had married Claire's father. They kept it in a place of honor on the center shelf of the family china cabinet, and Claire knew from a very young age that she mustn't touch it; it was too fragile. For years she'd look at it everyday at breakfast, eating her cornflakes, respecting its form and its beauty and, above all else, its durability. After twenty-five years, one move, and a curious two-year old, it should have been certified indestructible.

Then had come the screaming match with her mother; the one about Thomas and what girls her age should be doing, and what they most certainly should _not_ be doing. She could remember with crystal clarity the red-eyed rage that had possessed her as she screamed at her mother that she was NOT a child, she DID love Thomas, and no one -- NO ONE -- was going to tell her how to live her life. She wasn't a goddamned China doll!

And then, with the kind of deliberate nastiness that only a furious daughter can possess, she'd spun around, grabbed up the vase, and thrown it with every ounce of strength against the nearest wall. Clear as a bell she could remember the sharp, cold sound of shattering glass; the icy tinkling as it rained down on the hardwood floor.

She'd moved out that night.

It all came flooding back to her now, a tidal wave of memory. The sensation that even something that's seen its share of bumps and shakes and come through unscathed could still be broken in the blink of an eye.

"Do you remember why I called him Aidan?" she murmured in response to his question.

Charlie blinked, surprised. "I… Yes."

"Tell me."

He looked down, studying his knees. "Because he was a boy," he muttered.

Claire couldn't resist a small smile. "It was more than that, Charlie," she murmured. "Why Aidan?"

Softly. "To sound like Eden."

Her smile broadened, and now the tears that threatened to overwhelm her eyes were blurring her vision. "Do you remember why I wanted to do that?"

"No."

A lie. "Then I'll remind you," she replied. Reaching out, she took his hands pulling them towards her and by proxy making his body twist in her direction. "Eden was a paradise. It provided Adam and Eve all they could ever need or want. They were happy there; the happiest two people who have ever been. They had no knowledge of right or wrong or the nasty kinds of things people could do when they DID have that knowledge.

"When you left, Charlie… When you walked out that door, I didn't know what to do. It was like Eve woke up one day and found she'd been munching apples in her sleep, and suddenly bad things were happening. I didn't know what had happened and I didn't know how to fix it and suddenly we were tossed out of Eden on our ear and all alone and the world was a really cold, ugly place compared to how it had been. I think I hated you for a couple of days because of that. Really, really hated you.

"Nothing's ever going to be the same after this. I know that. I don't care. I figured it out, Charlie. The island wasn't Eden. _We_ were Eden. The island didn't make me happy. We were both so conditioned to _think_ we were happy because we were isolated from the rest of the world, but that's not true. I was happy, Charlie, because I was with YOU. Because you loved Aidan, and because you loved me. I found you on a desert island, but it could have been a grocery store or a roller coaster at the amusement park -- the where didn't matter. It never mattered. It was always the _who_. And I think you know that, and I think it scares you, because it means you have to change now that we're back in civilization. It means you have to stop curling around yourself like a hedgehog and start looking me in the eye again, and you're scared I'm not going to like what I see. But Charlie, _I saw you_ on the island. Say everything you want to dissuade me, but it's true. I saw you angry, I saw you sad, I saw you foolish and I saw you sweet. I saw _YOU_. And no matter WHAT you do, I will still love you, because _I_ know WHO YOU ARE."

Claire's throat was dry and her tongue felt numb and the tears in her eyes had long ago disappeared as her voice sucked up the moisture. But she wasn't done yet, and she pressed her palm against his cheek.

"Adam and Eve were innocents, Charlie," she whispered in conclusion. "The rest of us aren't so lucky."

The emotions that chased each other across his face were frenetic and half-crazed. Claire thought for a moment he was going to cry, then perhaps he was going to yell, then maybe stand and storm away. It was like watching Wile E. Coyote chase the Road Runner until he hit a brick wall.

The brick wall came in a flood of tears. "Claire…" He reached for her, broken, like a child for its mother, and she wrapped her arms around him, tight as a vice.

"Shhh, Charlie," she whispered fervently, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against the crown of his head as he sobbed into her neck. Tears ebbed from the corners of her eyes, forcing their way past lashes and mascara and winding silently down the column of her throat, but she ignored them and concentrated on rocking him gently. "Shhh, Charlie… I love you so much… I will _never_ let you walk away again… I will never let you do this to yourself again…"

His sobbing doubled, and Claire's stomach clenched in sympathetic pain. Long, artistic fingers tangled in her shirt and clawed at her back, as though he wanted to climb inside her and live there like an all-weather cabin. Claire slid her hand under his shirt, ghosting her fingers along his spine. Half of her melted at the touch of his skin, while the other half withered at the unhealthy ridges of his vertebrae.

A long time later -- she thought it might have been a half hour at least -- the mutual tears had eased enough that words made sense again. "How did you know he was my brother?" Charlie mumbled against her collarbone.

Claire's fingers were rhythmically running up and down his side, teasing the seam of his borrowed white shirt. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, rubbing her cheek against his hair.

Tugging her closer and farther onto his lap, he clarified, "Liam. I've never shown you a picture. How did you know it was him when you saw him?"

"Oh, that." Claire smiled and kissed his forehead. "We shared a cab."

He looked up, bloodshot eyes perplexed. "Say what now?"

Claire giggled. It felt so GOOD to giggle while he was holding her. She felt like she hadn't done it in forever. "I called him and told him about you and he said he'd come right over. I told him I'd pick him up and we could come over together."

"So, where were you while he was here?"

"At the bar across the street, with Hurley."

"You were in a bar with HURLEY?"

"You'd rather I was in a bar with Shannon? At least Hurley kept the lechers at bay. Though I had one guy who wouldn't stop staring at me. He kept moving one stool closer every few minutes. If I'd stayed much longer he would have been drooling into my cleavage."

A low, protective growl vibrated against her arm. "I'll kill him," Charlie snarled, pulling her even CLOSER, his lean arms winding around her slender waist. "MINE."

Claire laughed and nuzzled his temple. "Yes," she purred. "Yours." She kissed his cheek. Then his nose. Then the corner of his mouth…

Charlie chuckled. "Been lonely, luv?" he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

"Mmm… It's been a week, Charlie."

"You know, there are people out there who don't have sex for weeks on end, and they get by just fine. Months even. Years."

"Mm-hmm. I’m not one of them." She nibbled on his ear. "And neither are you."

"What makes you think that, luv?"

"I'm sitting in your lap, Charlie. It's hard to ignore."

He laughed again. God she'd missed his laugh. "What, you're proposing I take you manfully here on Hurley's nice leather couch?" He pulled back far enough to press their noses together, so she could see his twinkling eyes. "I think he'd object to that."

"You have a better suggestion?"

"Yes."

"…And?"

"I'm going to take you manfully in Hurley's guest bedroom."

Claire laughed as Charlie stood up, cradling her tightly against his chest. "Don't you think Hurley would object to that, too?" she asked as he carried her through the living room.

"Why would he? That's what the bloody things are there for, aren't they?"

"I think they're more for sleeping than sex, Charlie."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, you've twisted my arm. No sex in the guest bedroom."

Petting him on the head, she nodded approvingly. "Good boy." They changed direction. "Where are you going?"

"The guest BATHROOM. I intend to take you manfully in the shower, and if you argue with me, luv, I'm going to injure myself permanently."

"Wouldn't want that."

"No you wouldn't."

"Lead on, Mr. Pace."

"Will do, Mrs. Pace."

"I'm not your wife, Charlie."

"Do you want to be?"

Claire grinned, laying her head on his shoulder. "Is that a proposal, Charlie?"

He winked at her as they stepped over the bathroom threshold. "I'll admit it's not moonlight on a tropical beach with the surf crashing romantically in the background, but… Well, been there, done that." He dropped a quick kiss on her collarbone, making her giggle. "What do you say?"

Claire smiled and trailed her fingers through his hair. "After the _What took you so long?_ I guess that'd be a _Yes_." She kicked the door shut with one dainty foot.

When Hurley poked his head in a half hour later, the water was running, Claire's purse was still there, and it sounded like someone was trying to pound SOMETHING down the pipes.

"Dude, me and my _fricking_ metaphors," he muttered, before locking up the apartment and heading back to the bar for another round.

 

\-----------------------------

**TWO WEEKS LATER, CHRISTMAS DAY**

 

"Aidan, put that down, sweetie! You're going to fall and hurt yourself!"

Charlie laughed from his seat on Liam's sofa, watching Claire chase after one-socked Aidan as the little boy toddled away with a teddy bear that was three times as big as he was. "Luv, I think if he fell the bear would more or less break his fall," he reminded her.

"You're not being much help!"

Charlie chuckled. "Well, no. Guess not."

She glared over her shoulder at him and he laughed again, turning his attention back to where it wouldn't get him in trouble. Liam and Karen had gone all out with the Christmas decoration; holly framed the bay window at the front of the house, and mistletoe dangled over the front door. Three stockings in steadily decreasing size hung on the mantelpiece. The hearth was full of white pillar candles of varying heights, all of which were flickering behind the childproof black grate, giving the room a homey, holiday glow. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be another splash of red or dash of green; it was like he'd been thrown head first into a Victorian Christmas card, all the way down to the glossy wooden rocking horse in the corner by the window, which was currently being ridden at a leisurely pace by Charlie's niece, Megan. The air smelled like cinnamon and allspice. Aidan was laughing and Claire was too, in an exasperated, motherly kind of way. Charlie recognized the tone. His mother had used it with him on more than one occasion, all the way through primary school.

A long-neck bottle appeared in front of his eyes. "Can I tempt you, mate?" Liam asked as Charlie craned his neck around to look over his shoulder.

Charlie took the proffered bottle. "Ta, big brother," he said, snapping the top off as Liam made his way around the couch to sit beside him. Taking a long swig, he moaned happily, smacking his lips. "Excellent. Say that for the Australians, they know a thing or two about beer."

"And a few OTHER things," Claire reminded him from where she was now trying to get Aidan to let go of the enormous bear so she could put his missing sock back on. "Please, Liam, get him drunk. Preferably enough to last the rest of the weekend. Then he'll have no choice but to let me drive him home. I don't think my nerves can take driving all the way back to Brisbane with him behind the wheel."

"Luv, I'm an excellent driver."

Liam snorted. "Since when?" he asked, muffling his laughter by taking a pull from his own bottle.

Charlie gave him an affronted look. "I seem to recall ONE of us passing his driving exam after only two tries, not FIVE," he reminded pointedly.

"Yeah, but I seem to recall you flirted like mad with the girl who gave you the test."

Charlie coughed, scratching the back of his neck, vividly aware of Claire's bright blue eyes burning a hole in the side of his face. "Yes, well, bygones are bygones, eh? How's Karen getting on in the kitchen?"

"She promised to castrate me with a rubber hose if I poked my nose in there again. Thing is, she hates cooking. I usually do all that. But she wants to make an impression, you know? I think she's scared it'll be a bad one."

Charlie barked out a laugh. "Well she can rest easy. Two years of boar jerky and banana smoothies makes you more or less unpicky. Isn't that right, luv?"

"Absolutely." Claire stood up and hoisted Aidan with her. The young boy was squirming and kicking his feet in an anxious attempt to get his socks off again. With a frustrated sigh she dropped the fussing toddler in Charlie's lap and plopped down on his other side. "Take him," she said, voice breathy with exhaustion. Reaching out, she plucked the barely touched beer bottle from his hand and lifted it to her own lips.

"Here, that’s mine!" Charlie protested, trying to keep Aidan from climbing over his shoulder and off the back of the couch.

Claire ignored him and downed half the bottle before moving it away from her mouth and gasping for air. "Oh, God… I needed that," she moaned, pressing the bottle back into Charlie's hand. Patting him on the chest, she smiled prettily. "You're not the one Megan and Aidan woke up at four in the morning to open presents."

"No, you did that, thank you very much."

"It was only right, I thought. You didn't want to miss Aidan's first Christmas morning on the mainland, did you?"

"Of course not."

"There you go then."

"But did you really have to drop an ice cube on my neck? Wouldn't a simple _Wake up, Charlie_ have been enough?"

"The ice cube was more fun."

"You're a cruel, evil woman, Claire."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, well… Hang on. Liam, what the blazes are you snickering about?"

Snickering was an understatement. Liam was, in fact, laughing his proverbial ass off. "The pair of you," he clarified, grinning. "You sound like an old married couple."

"That's because we more or less ARE," Claire agreed, beaming up at Charlie. "Isn't that right, schnookums?"

"Oh, without doubt, pumpkin." He kissed her hand, his fingers playing idly with the glittering engagement ring he'd slipped into her stocking the night before. "Even if we still have to pick the date and actually make it all legal. Bunch of hoity-toity mumbo-jumbo bureaucratic mularkey, if you ask me. I say we just say _Sod this_ and get on with living."

"You're not getting out of wearing a tuxedo, Charlie, so stop trying."

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes in defeat, then grunted as Aidan stepped a little too close to a vital part of his anatomy. "Okay, big boy, down you go," he intoned, picking the little boy up and setting him on the floor, where he immediately plopped down and started pulling off his socks again.

Liam laughed. "Hey, Aidan, you want to go say hi to Aunt Karen with me?" he asked, leaning down to pick up the little boy. "See, if I take you in the kitchen with me, I can steal you a treat and get something for myself, too, and she won't be able to kill me because I'll be carrying my own witness."

"Are you trying to use our son as a shield, Liam?" Charlie asked suspiciously.

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

"Right then. Just checking."

Liam winked at him, propping Aidan on his hip, and snapped his fingers. "Come on, Meggy! Strength in numbers! Let's go bug mummy, all right?"

Megan laughed, hopping off her rocking horse and skipping over to grab her father's leg. "Cocoa?" she pleaded with wide eyes.

Liam sighed. "Well…" His eyes twinkled. "Come on, let's go see what we've got."

Megan squealed and ran ahead. Liam chuckled and followed after.

Once they were gone, Charlie felt Claire sigh and collapse bonelessly against his shoulder. When he looked down at her face he saw that her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted, as if she were asleep. "Tired, luv?" he murmured.

"Exhausted. What time is it?"

"Nearly one in the afternoon."

"'Sthat all?" She moaned, cuddling closer to him. "I wanna go to sleep."

"Just a little longer. Then you can take a nap."

Sighing heavily, she opened her eyes and raised her chin to look at him. "How are you doing?" she asked quietly.

_Oh, don’t bring that up now, luv_ , he cringed inwardly, but outwardly he smiled. "Right as rain, honeypot," he beamed.

"Don't be cute, Charlie. I really want to know." Her eyes softened and she touched his cheek with weary fingers. "I worry about you."

Taking her hand gently in his, he kissed her fingertips. "I'm fine, luv," he told her truthfully, squeezing her hand.

"No tremors, nausea, nothing?"

"Not for days."

"You sure? You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Claire, I promise you, I'm telling the truth."

She bit her lip with her pearlescent Chiclet teeth. "I wish you'd gone to a clinic, Charlie," she reiterated for the hundred millionth time that week. "It would make me feel better."

Charlie sighed. "Claire," he reiterated, for the hundred million and first time, "I didn’t have a clinic the first time I kicked the habit. I would have felt bloody foolish going to one the second time around. And can you imagine the paparazzi? They've more or less left us alone since Jack and Kate are their darlings-"

"And since you hit that one with a head of lettuce and told him to F off."

"-right, but they would have been all over us if they'd learned I went into rehab. Can't you just see the headlines? _**Rescued Rock Star's Rehab Nightmare!**_ It would have been all over the papers, and those tacky mags you buy to put under your boots by the back door in mud season."

Claire laughed quietly, her fingers playing with the top button of his shirt. He'd dressed up today, on account of it being Christmas. His shirt even had cuffs. "I know," she admitted, running her hand down his chest and patting his muscular stomach. "As long as you're doing fine, it's okay. I just get fussy when I'm tired. It's a bad habit."

He smiled at her and rubbed her knee. "Here," he said, reaching down to lift her feet off the floor, bringing them up so her legs crossed over his lap. Circling one arm around her waist, his free hand slid down her calf to massage her bare feet.

Claire laughed dreamily as his calloused fingers tickled her soles, then cooed happily and relaxed against him. Her arms curled around his neck and she nestled her face in his throat. "This was a lot easier on the island," she mumbled sleepily.

"What, me massaging your feet?"

She giggled. "No. Christmas. It wasn't so hectic."

"Well, there was less to do, wasn’t there? Fewer distractions." He kissed her forehead, reveling in the fact she'd used evergreen-scented shampoo.

"Mm-hmm." She kissed his Adam's apple. "But I like this better," she murmured against his pulse point.

"Why's that, luv?"

"Because Jack and Kate are having their big wedding next month, Hurley and Shannon are opening their spa in six months, the TV show debuts in a little under a year, and somewhere in there, we get to get married." With a giddy sigh, she nestled closer to him, which came as quite a surprise to Charlie, since it seemed to him they were already pressed together like leaves between the pages of a book; but he wasn’t complaining. "Mom's already going crazy with the wedding plans, Liam agreed to sing at the reception, Sun's going to do the flower arrangements, Megan's going to be our flower girl, Shannon's going to be my Maid of Honor, Hurley's your Best Man, everybody's coming, and it's like… all our family is going to be there. Our blood family, and our FAMILY." She beamed up at him then pillowed her head on his shoulder again. "It just feels perfect."

Charlie nodded, rubbing her back soothingly. "Yes it does," he agreed, ignoring the pessimistic side of his nature that was screaming at him that something was _going_ to go wrong. He was sick of listening to it, and it was usually wrong anyway. "But what does all that have to do with Christmas?"

Claire shrugged, absentmindedly drawing circles on his chest with a delicate fingertip. "I don't know," she admitted quietly, before laying her hand flat on his chest, palm over his heart. "I guess it just feels like today is the day it all starts. Like the rescue was just a warm-up, and THIS is where all the good stuff begins. We start living again."

It was true, Charlie decided. Immediately after the rescue, through all their troubles, it had felt like they were all still on the island in some way. As if there were some invisible tether holding each of them back from going out into the world and starting life over again. But sitting here in Liam's living room, on a soft, overstuffed couch of checkerboard linen, with a beautiful woman in his lap who was going to be his wife… It felt dreamlike, but real, like the adage of truth being stranger than fiction. Who would have thought six months ago that any of this would happen?

Small hands tugging incessantly on his leg brought him back from his reverie. Looking down, he saw Aidan staring up at him plaintively, mouth smeared with chocolate, Fluffy Bill tucked haphazardly under one arm. "Mamadada," he said wistfully, holding up his free arm, hand flexing.

Charlie smiled. "You want to climb up in daddy's lap, too, Aidan? Like mummy?" He patted the sofa cushion next to him. "Come 'ere."

Aidan clambered up on the couch next to them. Charlie hooked his arm around the little boy's tiny frame, lifting him up so that he was nestled on Claire's lap and resting against his own chest. When she didn’t say anything, Charlie risked a glance at Claire's face and saw she was fast asleep, her head lolling on his shoulder.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured with a smile, dropping a soft kiss on her sleepy lips. She shifted towards him, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips briefly before she drifted off to sleep again.

Charlie chuckled and looked down at Aidan, who had closed his eyes immediately after Charlie wrapped an arm around him. Sure enough the little boy was out like a light, sucking his thumb and hugging his teddy bear.

Charlie laughed softly, careful not to jar either sleeper awake. "Well, this is a right pickle, isn't it, Fluffy Bill?" he murmured to the teddy bear. "Here I am, stuck in the middle, with my left arm falling asleep and my lap feeling pretty quick to follow. Can't move, can't breathe too deep, can't talk too loud. Hmm…"

Sighing, he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Claire's soft golden curls. On the island they'd felt like corn silk, even after the sun and salt and sand. Here on the mainland they still felt like corn silk, only now they smelled of evergreen.

"Paradise," he murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

**THE END**


End file.
